



r 



. 




DORIS KELLOGG 



• K3S 



■ ■ . ' 
H Doris 



JAN 26 1920' 



©CI.A559560 



To 

My Buddie 
"Al" 




Y daughter, Doris, has asked me to 
U write an introduction to these, her 
i letters. A parent is quite liable to 
s exaggerate the good qualities of his 
children. I will, for that reason be 
very cautious in what I have to say. 
€L The United States of America 
owes a debt of gratitude, that they can not repay, to the 
young girls and women who gave up the comforts, 
pleasures, and some, the luxuries of the life at home 
to offer their lives, if need be, that they might save the 
lives of some of our soldier boys. Not even the protests 
of a fond mother and father would swerve daughter 
Doris from doing what she considered her duty. 
These letters do not tell of the hardships, the sleepless 
nights, the exhausted body, the fear and anxiety, the 
stirring of the tender feelings by sights too horrible to 
mention ; sights that only strong men or women should 
encounter. These letters do not tell of the horrible 
dreams, the strain on nerve and brain, the many, many 
acts of kindness and the great sacrifices of her own 
comforts. Neither do they intimate any desire for the 

7 



thanks of those to whom she unselfishly gave assist- 
ance. If there is an after life these things that have 
been done in the body for a brother in the capacity of a 
Good Samaritan will be rewarded. Can Democracy 
prove a failure so long as such Americans live ? Will not 
the aspirations of our forefathers be upheld? Will not 
the world at large be better for their example? Can 
selfishness, greed and meanness prevail here in 
America as long as the future children have for their 
mothers such individuals? 




y(^€^jr<? 



Over Half Way Across 
April 4th, 1918. 
SS. Rochambeau. 
Dear Family : 

^^^fcfc^HIS is the most glorious fun I have ever had 
M Q ~\ — and as thrilling as it is glorious. We have 
^L I over twelve hundred of our Sammies on 

^^Bg00r board and six hundred of the Polish Legion 
from Fort Niagara. I have met one of the Polish 
Lieutenants and so know all the news of them. This boy 
is a dear, only 22 years, in sky-blue French uniform. 
There are nine First-Lieutenants, the youngest only 
eighteen, and two Captains. Oh, what fun ! Then our 
men are so wonderful, the cream of our country — you 
can see that in their faces, by their hands and in many 
ways. There are always a couple of soldiers on guard on 
deck and this morning I had a great talk with a huge 
fellow from Oregon — he told me all about the Yukon 
and moose and bear and silver fox. I gave him two big 
Easter eggs and a package of gum. It is so interesting 
to watch the Poles and our men drill and take their 
setting up exercises. How I could go on forever talking 
about the men, but maybe they are not as interesting 

9 



to you as they are to me, so here goes for another subject. 
C£ It is remarkable how all thought of fear has left me 
now that I am really " in it " and I only ache to get to 
France and to work with the rest of my brothers — all 
of us with one idea — " Over There " and " Service." s *' 
We have had a phenomenal trip, smooth sea — warm, 
bright days and brilliant nights, with stars above and 
below in the black sea, starlike phosphorous. 
We have a Salvation Army troop bound for one of our 
Training Camps in France, loads of Y. M. C. A.'s and 
Red Cross men and nurses, ambulance drivers, one 
hundred and seventy Naval Aviators, and four women 
mechanics — the last being ourselves. We create much 
interest as being a novel and pioneer group. 
We expect our convoy of six ships tomorrow as we are 
carrying troops. Oh, how glorious this is ! 
We are heavily camouflaged and have passed several 
other ships, the sides of all blue, black, gray, etc., but I 
am afraid our Polish Legion in old British uniforms of 
bright scarlet would give us away if a submarine were 
about. We have had a life-boat drill, were assigned our 
life-boat and place to go to on deck, in case of attack s«» 
Let me thank everyone for their steamer letters, they 
meant more than I can tell and I shall always remember 
their messages. And thanks for the books and mechan- 
ic's soap and flowers and all. 
It makes me thrill to be saluted ! 

Evermore love to all, 
Doris. 
10 



A few days later. 
P.S. I guess tonight will bring us into the War Zone. 
I welcome it, but shall also gladly welcome Bordeaux. 
C As the days go by, I begin to feel more and more for 
our own boys in khaki, all foreigners are so queer and 
different. Give me the Engineers Company and the 
Artillery men down in the hold, they are great! Still, of 
course, it may be that distance lends enchantment s ^ 
When we land, the Poles will be met by one of their 
regimental bands and will march off singing. Won't it 
be thrilling ! There is a huge camp for German prisoners 
at Bordeaux so we will soon have our first glimpse of 
them. I believe they unload our ship's cargo. 
Well, I can tell you now I am just beginning to know 
what war can mean. So many French people have told 
me things with a certain look in their eyes. One woman 
who has her steamer chair next to ours lives in Switzer- 
land. What she can tell about the Tommies and Poilus 
returning home from German prison camps in the 
depth of winter — no clothes but a pair of trousers, no 
food, horribly ill and frightfully wounded, because only 
the ones absolutely incapacitated for fighting are sent 
home &t> s«» 

I wonder if I shall see a sub, because I tell you I am 
always on the lookout for one. I had quite a thrill 
yesterday — saw a dark object under the water right 
near the ship — heart throbbed, eyes peered, then saw 
it again, but alas, or happily, the large black fin of a 
shark loomed up and I knew that it was no U-boat £» 

11 



My, but it is funny how used I am getting to men! I 
can't predict just how long it will be, but I really think 
not very long, before the fascination of a uniform will 
wear off and there they will stand revealed, after all 
more man than hero — and they say familiarity breeds 
contempt. I am something of an Idealist, I find. I hope 
that will not all be knocked out of me, but then it does 
make me appreciate a real person when I find one s— 
We have seen no butter or dessert since boarding the 
Rochambeau, but our cakes and fruit have lasted 
beautifully so far, though they are beginning to wane 
now. Yes, send candy. I can see already how nicely it 
will fit into our scheme of life in Paris. 
How I hope from the bottom of my heart that I have 
said nothing that the censor will object to — he is such 
a mysterious person and so difficult to understand. 

Our last day out. 
It is now 6.45 A. M. and we have been up since 5 A. M. 
Lots of people slept on deck all night, as this is the real 
danger zone, in the Bay of Biscay. The gunners, fore 
and aft, have been alert every instant and our guards 
are stationed all over the ship with spy-glasses. It is a 
wild morning, sharp black waves and the sun streaking 
through heavy, gray clouds. Just now in a clear bit of 
sky there is a bright new moon and morning star. 
Ciel! but it is marvelous. How I hate having this trip 
over. These ten days have been a great adventure. 
When you get this letter, it will mean that I have 
12 



arrived safely in Bordeaux and you will have had my 
cable to set your minds at rest. 

Love, 

Doris. 
P.S. One more P. S. Tonight we three, Al, Mugs and I, 
are going to sleep on deck, wrapped in steamer rugs, 
fur coats, with life belts and letters of credit near at 
hand. I guess we shall not be the only ones, as some 
people have done so most every night since we left 
New York. I have heard much pacing overhead, which 
continued at intervals all night long. Some one said 
the purser was awakened the other night by a wild 
rapping on his door and upon opening it he was con- 
fronted by a panic stricken Y. M. C. A. man, all 
bedecked in life belt, who yelled at him " Save me, 
save me! " There had been some blowing of fog horns 
and I guess, as the fellow was quite primed for a sink- 
ing, he could only think that the worst had come. 
Tonight we are to have a ship concert and six of the 
Polish Lieutenants are going to sing their National 
Anthem. The Naval Aviators are to play some things 
on the flute, banjo, violin, etc., and there will be some 
rather good singing from the Y. M. C. A.'s. 
The most difficult problem I have ever had is to know 
how much of all the interesting things that are happen- 
ing on board I will be able to tell you without the bug- 
bear of a censor interfering. 

Before permanently closing my letter, really for good 
and all this time, let me tell you this, especially for the 

13 



benefit of Mother and Father and possibly Don; that 
I have never been more husky. The trouble is I am so 
healthy that it will take some holding to keep me down. 
But don't worry Mother and Father and possibly 
Charlie, Al is at hand to steady and guide me and she 
will carry me through. 

The American Y. M. C. A., Hostess House. 

Hotel Petrograd, 
Rue Caumartin, Paris, 
April 18th, 1918. 
Dearest Family : 

BERE I am, at last, safe in Paris. It seems too 
wonderful. By this letter head you will see 
where we are located, in a most attractive, 
comfortable and clean hotel. Have been 
more than fortunate all along with people taking us in 
hand and seeing about our reservations, quarters, 
trains, etc. 

We drew up to the pier in Bordeaux at about 5 o'clock 
yesterday afternoon, amid the most stirring scenes 
imaginable. I was immediately struck with the two 
aspects which still seem to me most typical of France — 
soldiers and widows. All France is in uniform and I 
begin to feel that black is the woman's uniform as blue 
is the man's. We saw our first " blesses " at the rail- 
road station in Bordeaux. The most striking was an 
Arab, fuzzy-haired, wild-eyed, hopping and darting 
about on one leg. And then there was a woman in deep 
14 



black with two terribly bent and lame soldiers on either 
side, wandering up and down the station platform, 
blind soldiers, soldiers with heads bound up and all 
descriptions of broken and bandaged bodies. 
We are off now for the A. F. F. W. Headquarters. This 
was just a note to tell you that so far there has n't been 
a hitch in our trip. We were taken in hand by the 
American Red Cross at the station here and transported 
to this hotel until we can get located nearer the garage. 
CL So love to all and please all write me often. 

Ever yours, 

Doris. 

Y. M. C. A., Hostess House, 
April 12th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

QO doubt you are wondering at my having so 
much time to write letters, but we are not 
really established as to work yet, which 
seems to be the usual experience of every 
worker coming to Paris. It will probably be a week or 
so before we really settle down. In the meantime, we 
are getting used to a real country at war. I must tell 
you that that fact was brought home to me most 
forcibly today, our second day in Paris, when we heard 
for the first time " le canon," the long range gun with 
which the Huns are shelling Paris. Mugs and I were 
at the bank, cashing checks, when suddenly we heard 
a dull explosion. It was too thrilling! but, besides us 

15 



the only one that showed any sign of a thrill was a 
stenographer, who gave a jump. Otherwise, no one 
noticed a thing but went right on talking and cashing 
checks as though nothing had occurred. About fifteen 
minutes after, there was another shock from the same 
direction and later, a third. Then, a couple of hours 
after that, I was having a shampoo and we heard three 
more great explosions quite near. I think the last trio 
fell in the Place de l'Opera. 

But now please don't worry about me any one. No one 
gives a rap for the old Huns here and their shells are 
getting poorer and poorer every day and many do not 
explode at all. But I will be careful to go down to the 
cave when we have an air raid. There are " abri " 
(shelters) all about, where one can go for protection 
from bombs and shells and wait until things are quiet 
again. Of course they are only used for shelter from air 
raids as one has plenty of warning of them. We have 
not had one yet but expect one any night. 
Now please don't worry about me. If you could see all 
the wonderful people who are giving everything, with 
never a thought for self, you would be glad to think of 
me as able to do a little something as well. Death loses 
its terror here and everyone becomes a Fatalist. 
Already I have seen all sorts of wounded soldiers, but 
the most dreadful today. I saw this figure of a man on 
the side-walk where he was selling souvenirs. He was 
quite normal until you came to his face — that was 
frightful — how can I describe it to you ! It was as though 
16 




"FOUR WOMEN MECHANICS 



a wax figure from the Eden Musee had come to life, 
only more unnatural and weird than that. I did not get 
near enough to see what had been done or what the 
face was made of but it looked like wax to me. It may 
have been flesh, but with no natural color. He was 
utterly ghastly. Well, I must n't dwell on the horrors, 
for they are so much the least noticeable part of the 
conditions here. 

As far as living goes, people seem quite comfortable. 
I have never been more so in New York. We are moving 
this afternoon to a quaint old boarding-house in the 
Latin Quarter. I shall write you next from there. 
We dined last night at a Mr. and Mrs. Olds' of St. Paul, 
who have an apartment here. There was another 
St. Paul man in the party, both he and Olds are Majors 
in the Red Cross. Major Taylor had just returned from 
the Front and was extremely interesting. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 
P.S. Have not seen a soul from Buffalo yet. 

9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere 
Paris, France, April 14th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

QOW I can tell you about our first air raid, a 
call on Mrs. Harries, bombardments from 
" le canon," and about our cozy room in the 
Rue de la Grande Chaumiere. 
I will begin with the raid. It came at about ten-thirty 

17 



on the second night we were in Paris. I was just in bed 
and Al was combing her hair when I heard a great 
explosion, as though a blast of dynamite had gone off, 
and said to Al: "Ah, ha! le canon again." " No," says 
Al, " it can't be that, because they do not fire at night." 
Then another, very loud and almost shaking the walls 
of our room. " Well, that must be le canon or an air 
raid " says I, " but it is awfully queer that we have not 
heard the sirens warning if it is a raid." So up we jump 
and go out onto our little balcony and gaze up at the 
sky. No doubt, now for we could see shells already 
bursting at a great rate above. Then the " alert " 
began. This consists of all the fire engines and taxis in 
Paris tearing through the streets and blowing their 
sirens and tooting their horns as a warning that the 
Huns have crossed the frontier. Well, Al and I jumped 
into our wrappers, grabbed out coats, (I am proud to 
say I had the presence of mind to take my purse) and, 
as all lights had been turned out, we stumbled down 
stairs by the light of Al's electric bull's eye. Everyone 
was down there in the cave and had taken chairs and 
sofas, prepared for several hours of waiting until things 
would quiet down again. I could not resist going out 
on the street just for a glimpse and saw the great 
searchlights sweeping the sky and heard the defense 
guns of Paris booming loudly overhead. It was thrilling ! 
The thing lasted about an hour and then, after a bit of 
quiet, the church bells and automobile horns announced 
" all clear." You see, the exciting part of this raid was 
18 



that the Boche got over our lines without being seen, 
so that we got a bomb or so before the warning came. 
41 Now, Mother and Father, I won't go out again, so 
don't worry. I always intended to see one raid, but am 
not so foolhardy as to take another risk. I really won't. 
€[ This afternoon Al and I called on Mrs. Harries. She 
and Mr. Harries were charming and I can't tell you 
how wonderful it was to talk with them and to be in the 
atmosphere of a real American home. Mr. Harries told 
us if we ever needed help or advice to come to him. I 
also found that Mrs. Rummell lives right around the 
corner from them and is expected home from the South 
next week ; also that Dr. Crosser is preaching over here 
in the Latin Quarter every Sunday night, and that 
Gay Ramsdell Kimberly lives only about a block from 
us. Mr. Harries feels confident that Paris is safe, will 
not be evacuated, though a couple of weeks ago, he 
said, things looked quite serious. You have no idea 
how much safer one feels over here in Paris than you 
would think possible in America — it is not a bit scarey 
and we are quite comfortable. 

Le canon is more nerve-racking than the raids, though 
less dangerous, for you never know where the thing 
will hit and that makes it jumpy. 

As for our quarters here at No. 9, they are very cozy. 
Al and I have a double room overlooking our tiny court 
and also the roof garden of a convalescent Hospital 
for American Officers. We could talk across to the men, 
and maybe will, when it gets warm enough to be so 

19 



much exposed. We have a great little fireplace, and 
buy our own wood, which comes in neat little packages 
which we carry upstairs ourselves — buy it a few doors 
from here. Our chocolate and bread is served in our 
room every morning and for dinner there are many 
picturesque and good little restaurants near by. Tonight 
Al and I stayed in for supper. Al is sitting before the 
fire now, eating that soft " double creme " cheese 
that comes in little round packages. You mix it with 
confiture and spread it on war bread. If it were n't for 
the devilish Huns we would be happier than queens. 
But after all, the danger probably adds something to 
our joy in life, though we may not realize it. 
I met Tom Ramsdell the other day and he asked me 
to have dinner with him and Livingston Fryer. 
As for our work, we are still on the waiting list, but are 
not discouraged as everyone seems to have the same 
experience getting started. There is so much to be 
done that it seems terribly difficult to get things dis- 
entangled £» s«» 

Tell Don that I don't believe there is anything here for 
him. Nothing in any case except with the Red Cross 
and I am sure he would not want any job there. Then 
Paris is terribly damp and I really don't think he could 
stand it with his asthma. Most of the boys who were in 
the Red Cross Ambulance work have joined the Army. 
Jack Kimberly has just passed his examinations for 
the Artillery and is an officer — passed one of the high- 
est in his class. 
20 



I am going to drop Jim Coatsworth and Ted Knight a 
note now. 

Saw another man with a made over face today. Oh 
Jove, it was terrible ! But he was being led, stone blind, 
so it was really a blessing for him not to know how 
frightful he is. 

We are getting to know so many very nice people here. 
You see, between four of us, we have quite a circle to 
move in. 

Now please, people, don't worry about me. Be Fatalists 
and trust to luck and consider that it is really more 
dangerous to cross Fifth Avenue of an afternoon than 
to be in Paris now. I shall write often and trust you 
will get my letters, though I know mails are horrible. 
€[ Must tell you one more thing. On the first day we 
arrived here, Betty Aimes, a friend of Al's, met me 
with this news and a letter for me from a young Poilu : 
one night she was down at the Gare du Nord giving 
out comfort bags to men leaving for the Front, and as 
she handed one to this lad, she told him to open it and 
see if there was any note inside. He did so, and there 
was a card from me. They were both terribly excited 
and she told him I would soon be in Paris, so he wrote 
me an awfully nice note. I have answered it and am 
going to send him some cigarettes tomorrow. 

Much love to all, 

Doris. 



21 



Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
April 28th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

x *4l^^^/'ODAY is Saturday and so far has been as 
m C^\ <l u i e t as a lamb. I mention this fact because 
^L I this was the day that we all awaited breath- 

^^^g^r lessly, having been warned that the Ger- 
mans intended bombing and shelling Paris every four 
minutes, beginning early this morning. Also that the 
neutral Embassies had been warned to leave and that 
Paris would probably be evacuated. And now that 
nothing has occurred we hear the rumor spreading 
that this scare was all German propaganda, which is 
no doubt the truth. 

A huge Red Cross Pierce truck has just delivered a 
Ford chassis at our garage for us to assemble, and 
we '11 go at it Monday morning. That will open our 
official duties, I think. Al gave her finger an awful 
smash, so she is out of it for a day or so, but by Monday 
will be quite fit, I hope. 

This week we have been packing at the Alcazar. I wish 
you could see the bales and bales and boxes and boxes 
and boxes of supplies and clothing that have been sent 
from there to hospitals, and to the Gare du Nord for 
the refugees who are streaming through Paris. Two 
girls are always on duty there to hand out the things, 
as well as to give a supper of bread and cheese, con- 
fiture and chocolate to the poor weary souls. One night 
22 



we went down just to have a look and I can tell you we 
saw something. The most pathetic souls came stream- 
ing in, old, young, sick and of every station in life. 
One woman just wrung my heart — she was about 
forty, had the most beautiful little girl of about two, 
and twins not more than a month old. Talk about the 
mother instinct! She illustrated that, I assure you. 
She was so dead tired that she could not even smile 
at us, just too dragged and weary; but, she hovered 
over those babies like a mother bird and bathed their 
feet and hardly took her eyes off them for an instant. 
I thought of Gert and how she would adore that little 
yellow headed sunshine of a girl. I only wish I might 
have bought her. The poor souls were so hungry that 
they ate with great relish and seemed to sort of cheer 
up when they got food into themselves. One old man 
was so dazed he had to be led and put to bed by the 
Gendarmes, who, by the way, are the spirit of kindness. 
€[ Yesterday, we had a bit of excitement. We were 
walking along Boulevard Madeline when we noticed 
everyone gazing at something passing on the street 
and upon our following suit we say a German aeroplane 
being hauled along behind a truck. It was full of holes 
and looked like a great wounded fish. I said to a man, 
" What is it? " and he answered with the most bitter 
voice, " Sale Boche," (" dirty Boche"). 
We are so happy here and it is so interesting. We love 
our home and the cozy places where we eat. But by 
Jove! it has been frightfully cold. We've almost frozen 

23 



to death — which is an exaggeration, but has more than 
two-thirds element of truth in it. And Mother, dear, 
your " charmante " pair of socks have come in so 
nicely. I 've worn them every night, and think of your 
nice smooth hands a- knitting them every time I put 
them on — that was labor well done. 
I got such a nice Easter card from Mrs. Mann. It was 
so thrilling to get something from home — thank her 
for me, please. But that is the one and only word I 've 
had. Please turn over a new leaf folks — and you know 
a cable now and then would not be scorned by me. 
I find that one gets very, very hungry for news of home. 
C George Rand has been so nice and has done me some 
good turns. I had a note from Mrs. Freeman asking me 
to drop in to see her, and Mrs. Jack Kimberly came 
over to see me the other day. 

Tonight Al and I are going over to the other side (that 
means the other side of the Seine) and have dinner at 
the Y. W. C. A. Hotel and also take a room for an hour 
so that we can have a hot bath. Is n't it killing? There is 
" pas de bain " here and one either has to go to the 
public bath nearby, or be content with a sponge bath. 
I hope we shall succeed with this plan of the Y. W. C. A. 
€1 Well, everyone, I must close. With love to all, 

Doris. 



24 



Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
Sunday, April 21, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

©HIS letter business is getting to be a con- 
tinual performance, but I have had the time 
so far to write more than I feel sure I shall 
be able to later, so I had better make hay 
while the sun shines. 

We have just had a marvelous day at St. Cloud. Took 
the train out and walked from the station across the 
hills to Sevres, where we had dejeuner. It was a 
glorious day and everything was tender green. Oh, how 
Mother would have loved the tree trunks, all covered 
with gray-green moss, so cool and restful. The woods 
were full of wild flowers and every now and then a 
wonderful bird would sing. It was quite dream -like. 

The next day — Monday eve. 
I am sitting cozily before our wood fire waiting for Al. 
We are going to have supper in our room, and before 
me is a table laden with sardines, Gervais cream 
cheese, confiture, petit pain and bouillon cubes for 
soup — on the coals is a little tin with hot water for the 
cubes — it is too cozy. And by Jove! but I am 
starved. We 've put in a good day at the garage setting 
up the messiest Ford chassis — it was absolutely covered 
with rust, had probably been out in the rain for weeks 
and the dampness had all soaked through the crate. 

25 



We have it all ready to test out tomorrow morning. 
CL There is a most charming French girl working at 
the Alcazar, her name is Germain Wagner and she is a 
friend of Lucy and Dorothy Stockton, also knows 
Dorothea Lewis well. Sunday, Al and I went to her 
house for tea. It was quite nice, and so interesting to 
be in a real French home — but sad too, for both Ger- 
main and her mother are in deep mourning for someone. 
And the house was all closed wth the exception of the 
dining-room, which seemed to serve as general living- 
room of the apartment. We had cold meat, hot chocolate 
and slices of war bread which Mrs. W. cut from a huge 
loaf there at the table. Then, the inevitable confiture on 
bread — that is the only sweet one ever gets here now. 
41 You know we get wild sometimes to know the war 
news as we used to at home in America. We hear much 
less of the war than you do over there, though heaven 
knows it is brought home to us pretty vividly in other 
ways. Yesterday on the metro there were three young 
fellows standing next to me — all fine, strong and well 
built, but their faces the most terrible sights you can 
imagine. One's face was bandaged across the nose, 
which you could easily see was absolutely gone, and 
the upper lip all drawn in — he had to breathe through 
his mouth. It was awful! But I suppose later he will 
have a false nose and will probably think himself quite 
nice looking, as I have been told so many of the 
mutiles do. The other two were all wrong, as to jaws, 
chins and mouths, and when the metro jerked and we 
26 



all got squashed, everyone smiled and those two poor 
fellows' faces were ghastly. 

Wednesday, April 24, 1918. 
You will be interested to hear that today we went up 
to Mrs. Maynard Ladd's studio to see the work she is 
doing, making masks for these terrible mutiles. She is 
a well-known sculptress in America and when I heard 
of her work here and that she took her meals at our 
dear Henriette's, I resolved to speak to her and ask 
her if we could n't go to see her work some time. So, 
the other day, my intuition told me that that was Mrs. 
Ladd seated at the table next to ours. I went and spoke 
to her and we had a thrilling talk. The next day, being 
today, four of us called at her studio. She makes a 
plaster cast of the mutilated face, then models a 
portrait from that and from photographs taken of the 
patient before being wounded. A metal mask is made 
from the portrait and Mrs. Ladd paints that in oils, 
adds moustache — and voila! there is a characteristic 
and sensitive covering for a face otherwise horrible 
beyond description. Some of the casts were too fright- 
ful — great holes in the middle, no nose, jaws or eyes. 
Of course, most of these men have to be fed through 
tubes, and in some cases, smoke through their noses. 
The faces in the circular are the least ghastly. Please 
carefully guard this pamphlet for me. 
Oh, really I say, hang these " sale " Germans. We had 
the siren alarm for an air raid last night at 11.30. Al 
and I had just gotten warmed up in bed, when, worse 

27 



luck, up we had to jump, hurry into our coats and 
thread our way down to " Le Cave." My! but it is a 
damp hole, and we were the only English-speaking 
people there. The French are more nervous and I guess 
they get quite worked up — but the calm, old American 
won't be bothered with getting out of bed and just 
sleeps through it all. Last night the Paris defense bar- 
rage scared the Huns off and they did n't cross the 
lines ; so after shivering for about an hour, we got bored 
and went back to bed. Then a little after one the "All 
Clear " horns and church bells sounded and we 
dropped off to sleep. After all it was rather a valuable 
hour, because I chatted with the Frenchies and had a 
lesson " tres bon marche." I wonder how long it will 
be before we become as blase as the other Americans, 
and fail to arise and walk when the siren screams. 
€1 We have a French woman come three times a week 
to give us lessons in conversation and find it quite 
helpful. I took my first one last night and I gave 
Madame the contents of my purse to help out the 
refugees who live in the same house with her. I 've 
never heard such pitiful tales in my life ! and Madame 
almost takes the cake herself. Her husband was tor- 
pedoed and killed on the "Sussex" — then a little later 
her baby was born and died last winter, a year old, of 
pneumonia, because she could n't get any coal for a 
fire. Then, when the baby was dead, she laid it in the 
coffin and nailed down the cover herself. The thing has 
almost made her lose her mind. If you could see her 
28 



and talk to her your heart would break. She has seen 
three shots from " le canon " strike and when I asked 
her if she was afraid she said, " Oh, no, le canon only 
kills people who have someone to live for." I tried to tell 
her that everyone was needed in the world and that 
she could n't measure her value here, and that made 
her open up, tell me about these refugees she helps as 
much as she is able. We 're going to take her out to 
dinner soon and give her a feast. 

We towed the chassis around the block today but she 
would n't start — she is too rusty, I guess. Tomorrow 
we 're going to get inside the little power plant and see 
what ails her. 

Love, love to all. No word yet, and I do die so to get a 
line. Doris. 

P. S. Saw Harry Smith yesterday and sent many 
messages home by him. 

9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 

Paris, France, 

Dear Family: May 5th, 1918. 

XSAY absolutely H ! ! ! — this waiting around 
while the fate of organizations is being 
decided is getting to be an awful bore. You 
see the Red Cross and the A. F. F. W. are 
still bickering as to the future position of small funds, 
such as this same American Fund for French Wounded. 
In the meantime they have not enough motor work to 

29 



keep us decently busy. We have set up one Ford 
chassis and she runs like a sewing machine ; and then 
have done odd jobs around the garage. The Fund 
expects to get more motors from the Red Cross and 
keeps us on in that hope, but we want to be released 
and go in for Red Cross motor or canteen work. If you 
only knew of the red tape, etc! it is quite discouraging. 
We hope for some speedy settlement of our situation 
and, in the meanwhile, have a fine friend in Major 
Olds of the R. C, a St. Paul man, previously with the 
firm of Kellogg, Severance & Olds, of St. Paul. He has 
our welfare at heart and has been great to us. The 
other night we had dinner with Major and Mrs. Olds 
and an attractive Lieut. McFarland. McF. was in Paris 
for a day on his way South from the Front and was so 
interesting ; is a balloon observer in the Signal Corps. 
Last night we had the Olds here to dinner in our little 
room. Great fun! Our landlady furnished the steak, 
" pommes saute," and made a salad for us. Then we 
made our own after dinner coffee and some fudge on 
our little sterno stoves. The sugar I brought from 
America came in very nicely. 

Yesterday, being Sunday, we did a bit of sightseeing. 
Visited Notre Dame, Montmartre and St. Etienne du 
Mont. We lunched at Cafe de la Paix and I tell you 
that was a meal. Paris swarmed with American soldiers, 
the streets were full of khaki, and we laughed so at 
our boys, they were so open-eyed and amazed at the 
city sights. Sunday is the great day here, all the officers 
30 



and soldiers are prinked up to a finish and promenade 
the streets. There are some magnificent specimens, I 
can tell you, especially the French Chausseurs with 
their black tarns and dark blue coats covered with 
medals. I am getting so used to the wounded that we 
hardly notice the difference now between a man who 
is whole or otherwise. 

Had an interesting time down at the Gare du Nord 
helping distribute clothes to the refugees, and saw 
some more heartrending sights. There was one mother 
with three children, the youngest an infant of 14 days ; 
then a young girl 18 years old, refugee from Calais, 
who simply haunted me and would n't leave me alone — 
she wanted so to talk to me. Later she told me that I 
reminded her of the young English boy she was going 
to marry, said he talked exactly like me. She said that 
she and her sisters and little brothers had had their 
home bombed to the ground while they were in their 
cave, and when things got quiet enough they had run 
away, leaving everything behind. " Her man " is in the 
trenches now but is coming South to marry her soon. 
Poor child! when I gave her a few clothes to wear she 
was so happy, d Ruth, I have n't seen Mrs. Rummell 
yet but won't forget the bag and will try to see her soon. 
€L Heavens! but it is chilly and damp here. We have a 
fire most every night but otherwise never feel really 
warm as in America, it is very different. I had quite a 
time getting acclimated, with colds and a bit throaty, 
but seem to be all settled now and feel great. 

31 



We wore our uniforms for the first time yesterday and 
looked quite " comme il faut " — dark blue serge, large 
side and breast pockets, black leather belts, A. F. F. W. 
in French blue on our shoulder straps and on the lapels 
a blue wing with a small red cross in silver underneath, 
stiff black sailor, and boys' shirt with black tie. I really 
think I don't look very funny, as I expected to. 
Ruth, tell any of the girls that want to come to France 
that I advise them to come with the Red Cross, for they 
need canteen workers badly and everyone over here 
who is doing that is simply crazy about it. In many 
cases girls who have come with other organizations 
have had fiendish times, their work misrepresented to 
them, and they found they had really been brought 
over under false pretense. 

Many days later. Friday. 
" Tomorrow, why tomorrow I may be^" — you see Al, 
Mugs and I have decided to go to Mrs. Lathrope in a 
body and ask to be released from the A. F. F. W. We 
have no work to hold us with this organization and so 
have decided to go in for canteening with the Red 
Cross. It will be too wonderful to really get to work 
after being just half busy these past three weeks. 

Sunday. 
After a severe pull we broke loose from the A. F. F. W. 
and tomorrow go to the Red Cross to be assigned to 
some canteen. Everyone is crazy about the work and 
the Red Cross seems to want us as they say we are 
32 



just the sort they 're looking for. They could use one 
hundred fifty canteeners at once if they could get them. 
We may go to a hospital camp, a railroad station can- 
teen, or any place else that is to us unknown, but my! 
it will be great to be under orders at last. We will keep 
these same blue A. F. F. W. uniforms, but with U. S. 
and a red cross on the shoulders, a blue strip on the 
lapel and a red cross on our black sailors. While working 
we wear blue aprons, white collars, cuffs and coifs. 
More of this after tomorrow. 

I wish I might in some way give you an idea of Paris 
during these wonderful Spring days, and the excursions 
in and about here which we have taken the past weeks. 
I have never been so in love with any other city. We 
have seen and admired so many things that I can't 
begin to write about them, but I can tell you that I have 
never in my life had such a satisfying time, and I fairly 
burst with all this beauty. The Bois is paradise, Ver- 
sailles a dream (though all but the gardens are full of 
war trucks and such like — I saw hundreds of Pierce 
Arrows standing in rows) the Latin Quarter a chapter 
from a novel (with the studio where Trilby posed just 
across the street from us) and every inch of Paris too 
good to be true. Oh! it is all so glorious. 

Ever lovingly, 

Doris. 
P.S. I have had five letters so far that you have for- 
warded, Mother, but none from the family and I am 
dying to hear. 

33 



Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
May 9, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^^■m-^^E asked a Danish opera singer and Germain 
J II ^^ Wagner to supper in our rooms last night. 
W I W Had a circus and made their eyes open with 
^^J^S a basket of those luscious " f raise du bois." 
Germain is a dear and is loads of fun. We are going to 
have a picnic in the Bois Sunday. 

While roaming about the funny little streets over on 
our side of the river today we came upon Academy 
Julian, the famous Art School, and went in to see an 
exhibition — it was quite nice and full of atmosphere. 
Am reading Du Maurier's " Martian " and find it 
fascinating. We go about looking for the places men- 
tioned in the story. 

And now before long we have to really get down to 
hard tack. I '11 tell you all about our plans as soon as I 
know what 's going to happen to us. 
With love to all. Have n't heard from anyone but 
Dunbar, Nat S. and several French soldiers. 

Doris. 



34 



9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
May 11, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

GAN you believe or conceive of our joy now 
that we are at last signed up heart and soul 
with the American Red Cross? We are to do 
canteen work, but where or when we do not 
know yet, as it will be several days before our papers, 
which allow us to go into the war zone, can be obtained. 
It is the most wonderful feeling to be connected with a 
real organization and to wear a U. S. and red cross on 
one's shoulder. 

And now let me tell you the most thrilling thing that has 
occurred to me since landing in France. Last night in 
all our new regalia of insignia, we started out for 
" Henriette's " for supper. There were two Poilus 
sitting on a bench beside the sidewalk, and when I 
looked at them it seemed to me they saluted — I could 
hardly believe my eyes, and really did n't. Then today 
Al and I were walking along the Champs Ely sees, when 
unmistakably, a Y. M. C. A. man presented me with 
the noblest salute in the world. I was panic-stricken 
and just feebly smiled and bent my head. When a few 
minutes later another salute came along I was as weak 
as a rag — really still am. What am I to do about it? 
I '11 have to call on Major Olds and find out the proper 
Red Cross etiquette in such a case. 
But the big thing is that, at last, we are located and can 

35 



go to work. And how tremendously we are needed ! 
They tell us that before long there will be three jobs 
for every woman in France, it is getting to be such a 
problem to get women over now. 

We ordered our blue aprons, white cuffs, collars and 
coifs today and I bought a small canteen trunk with 
large red crosses painted on its sides. 
Al and I walked almost up to the Arc de Triomphe this 
afternoon and how glorious it was. All the while Al and 
I were conjuring up characters from " The Martian." 
The horse chestnut trees are in bloom and the flowering 
shrubs and flower-beds are so gay and cheery. Down 
by the Madeline the flower-booths that surround it 
make brilliant patches of color, while the officers uni- 
forms of scarlet, " bleu claire " and tan give the finish- 
ing touch to this great picture of Paris. 
I look every day for mail but am not too impatient as I 
have made up my mind not to fret if I do not hear from 
you all — mails are so difficult. We got a box of candy 
today from St. Paul and it is great. 

Tomorrow we are going to take a picnic to the Bois — 
hard boiled eggs, ham, " petit pain " and cheese. That 
sounds good to us. You know we have forgotten what 
butter is like but really don't miss it a bit. 
We are meeting so many interesting people and are 
making the most of a restful, happy time, for when 
work commences it will be stiff and steady going, I 
reckon s+ sv 

Met Mrs. Harries the other night and she told me that 
36 



Mrs. Rummell has not returned yet, so I '11 take the 

bag up to Mrs. H. and leave it there, Ruth. 

Now, I must close as dinner calls me — " Henriette's " 

again. Do you know Trilby used to eat there too? 

We are all as healthy and happy as can be — but oh ! for 

a good husky job! 

I think of you all so often and many times I persuade 

the girls to listen to long eulogies in your praise. 

Horrible fact that I have none of your photos to exhibit 

to my friends. 

Hurrah for our new job! 

Trembles for the salutes! 

Three cheers for Paris! 
And love to all, 

Doris. 

9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
May 15th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

OH! I almost wept for joy when I found your 
cable here for me — it is the first word I 've 
received from the family and it was just too 
wonderful. So you 've written me ten letters 
— well, perhaps I '11 get some of them today, as we 
expect a mail in this morning. 

It is about 8 A. M. I am sitting at a table by a large 
French window, wide-open — the sun is brilliant and 
all the caged canaries in the neighborhood are singing 

37 



madly. Straight ahead of me, through an aisle of quaint 
houses and the morning haze, I see the Pantheon, 
silhouetted against the sky. It sets me thinking of all 
the great, old French writers and scholars buried deep 
down in its crypt — Voltaire, Rousseau and others whose 
names I can not remember. If they were living now they 
would probably be very active " sassing " the Germans. 
C When we moved over here and chose this " high-up 
room " we were warned that the ones lower down were 
more desirable on account of the Gothas. But we loved 
the view, were bored with the Hun aviators, and any- 
way were quite resigned to " descendre au cave " 
when the warning came. And now how we can crow 
about it — only one air raid to oust us out of bed and all 
this lovely vista of trees and housetops and Pantheon 
to feast upon. Oh! not to mention the roof -garden of 
the "American Officers' Convalescent Hospital," whose 
chief use in life seems to be that of serving as back- 
ground for snapshots of soldiers by nurses. 
Ruth, when you see Felici, will you tell her that I saw 
Dr. Crosser the other evening at Henriette's, and he 
said, " Oh, how is little Sincky? " He preaches over 
here at some place, and every Sunday evening Henri- 
ette's has the novel experience of being flooded with 
elderly Christians, returning from Church — I wonder 
what Trilby would have thought. Dr. C. invited me to 
see him at the University Club when he returns from 
the Front, where he has now gone to work for some 
time in a Y. M. C. A. hut. Also asked me to remember 
38 



him to you, Pop. Was n't he " comme il faut " not to 
send any messages to the ladies? 

Thanks for the cable. It was the greatest joy I have 
had for weeks. 

Your loving, 

Doris. 
P.S. I guess the long-range guns have been silenced 
all right. We have n't heard them for days. 

9 Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
May 19th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

TILL in Paris but with a real job at last. We 
are to go to a Red Cross cantine in the 
French War Zone, to work with the French 
soldiers. I think I had better not mention the 
name for fear of the censor, but I '11 just say that we 
will be right in the thick of things and in one of the 
most beautiful spots of France, with forests full of wild 
flowers and fraises du bois and a beautiful old historic 
chateau to revel in. We are only waiting for our papers 
which allow us to go into the War Zone, and then — 
but I '11 write you all details from there. 
Now we are working in the Casualty Department, Red 
Cross Headquarters, 4 Place de la Concorde. It is 
exceedingly interesting, but gruesome too. We file 
the inquiries of people who are trying to locate or have 
some news of men in the A. E. F. All day yesterday I 

39 




made out records of men " Killed in action " — " May 
10th : Died of wounds received in action " — " May 10th : 
Died of gas poisoning," etc. And then we read letters 
from parents begging for help in finding their boys and 
so on. It makes one realize something of the suffering 
going on in America now. We work from nine to twelve 
— from two to six. It is such a relief from our boring 
inertia of the past weeks. 

This morning Al and I went to high mass at Notre 
Dame. It was a magnificent service with a Cardinal 
who swept down the center aisle, attended by many 
gorgeously-gowned priests and choir-boys. As he passed 
along, the congregation kissed a wonderful sapphire 
ring which he wore. Then there was special music, 
with the most beautiful boy soprano I 've ever heard. 
The organ fairly shook the walls and ceiling with its 
music which seemed to pour from every inch of the 
cathedral. It was thrilling. But one did miss the great 
stained glass windows, which have been removed for 
fear of air raids. 

We had dinner the other night with Mr. Bobbett of 
St. Paul. He has taken the most adorable apartment 
imaginable near the Faubourg St. Germain, up on the 
top floor of a beautiful old building and right under the 
eaves. It belongs to an artist and is furnished with rare 
and lovely antiques. The dining-room is so picturesque 
— a black and white checkered marble floor, old oak 
furniture and black marble fireplace. We had a cozy 
time, just Bobbett, Al, Mugs and I. Later in the evening 
40 



we went in to sec some friends of Mugs who have an 
apartment in the same building. We had no sooner 
seated ourselves in their library than a far-off wail of 
the siren was heard. Heavens ! another beastly air 
raid. It takes no time for the "Alert " to resound 
throughout Paris, and we rushed to the windows to 
watch the fire-engines which carry the sirens, go by. 
This attack proved to be more or less of a fizzle as the 
Gothas couldn't get through the barrage, so after about 
an hour the Paris church bells sounded " Berlot " — 
all clear — and we " beat it " for home through the 
pitch black streets. Paris is more romantic than ever 
in these war times. 

Everyone is dining or lunching us before we leave 
town. We had an awfully nice time at Germain Wag- 
ner's. Their apartment is beautiful and she is a dear. 
Also her brother is most attractive, very musical and 
artistic and good looking. He was on the " Bourse " 
(stock exchange) before the war, but has for the last 
six months been in a sanatorium for lung trouble. He 
is trying for the aviation but I guess they won't take him. 
They have a wonderful large home at some place in the 
country «•» $—■ 

Lunched with Mrs. Rummell and Frank the other day 
and was delighted with Frank's paintings ; some of 
them are splendid. 

Had tea with Mrs. Harries and Harriett Bissell. Dr. 
Crosser was there in his new Y. M. C. A. uniform and 
looked very handsome. 

41 



We ate all waiting breathlessly for the great German 
drive. When will it come? How far will they push on, 
if at all? Can they get to Calais? Will they take Amiens 
and when they resume their offensive will they also 
resume their long distance shelling of Paris? You can 
imagine the tension. That is one of the things that 
impresses me as being so different here from at home — 
the tension before a drive. We all get ready for it, 
wonder about it, talk about it, and everyone seems to 
become grave and determined and grim. You see Paris 
is a much more serious place than ever before. All the 
frivolous people have left, nine hundred thousand of 
them, they say, and those that have remained mean 
business s©» s«* 

But of everything that has impressed me here in France, 
can you guess what has struck me most forcibly? Well, 
it 's the free and easy, out and out flirting between the 
sexes. It is too killing. You get into the Metro — many 
couples billing and cooing, holding hands, breathing 
sweet compliments in each other's ears. You walk in 
the Bois — innumerable groups of two all over the place 
reclining in each other's arms, embracing, etc. You go 
to restaurants, ditto ; movies, ditto ; and so on. It is too 
funny. I hate it. You know I can't stand the attitude 
between men and women here at all. The men treat 
the women just as though they were only made to be 
a plaything and the silly women love it. I think we 
English and American women may do something more 
for France than war work if we can sow some seeds of 
42 



social conscience in the French women's brains. 
d Well all — I must dash off some more letters. I 
watch with burning eyes for word from you all. 

Ever lovingly, 

Doris. 
P. S. I have had one letter from Pa and two from 
Mother. 

Rue de la Grande Chaumiere, 
Paris, France, 
May 22d, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

XAM as happy as a bird tonight. And why, 
you wonder? Oh! it is because as I was 
bending over my desk in the Casualty 
Department this afternoon, Al appeared 
with five wonderful letters for me. One from Mother, 
one from How and Gert and Don and one from E. Sul- 
livan in Geneva. I am as happy as a lark over them. 
Gert's I devoured between times as I worked and it was 
so dear and awfully amusing that I roared out loud.Then 
I browsed over How's as I ate cozily at Henriette's 
tonight — how I loved all the news about fillies and 
foals, etc. And Don's was juice itself as regards 
" goings-on " with pretty and snappy demoiselles. 
Mother's was the fine, gossipy, meaty and utterly 
satisfying kind that she always writes ; and all in all, it 
was a catch, that little mess of news. 
It is very interesting in the Casualty Department. We 

43 



file records of prisoners of war, wounded, killed, etc., 
and the insight we get into the hearts of the soldiers 
and their loved and loving ones " back home " is an 
experience to have had. It is about like having an office 
job in Washington, I imagine, only of course so much 
more interesting. My stars, but I was dead tired after 
work tonight. It is so hot and all, but the satisfied sense 
of having put in a long hard day of helpful work is more 
than enough to compensate. Our Department is what 
they call the " Home Communication Bureau," and it 
is growing by leaps and bounds. I hardly see how the 
Red Cross will be able to handle it soon. 
As I sit here in my open window this evening, I hear 
the familiar buzz of the " Defense of Paris " aeroplanes 
over my head. They are the most picturesque objects up 
there in the sky. Sometimes I imagine them huge birds, 
but at other times they seem like great ships sailing 
in the blue. After it gets dark, we see the funny, clumsy 
" Saucisse " balloons which are sent up with cables 
attached to entrap enemy planes during the air raids $+ 
How fast and thick our boys are coming over! Everyone 
I see who has just arrived brings tales of ships full of 
Sammies being poured into France. I wonder if Junior 
will soon be over and if he has my address and will 
drop me a line so that I can write him. I 'd like to know 
where to locate him. 

You know that now we are part of the American Army 
and subject to Military Law and orders. Are with the 
American Expeditionary Forces. It is great ! 
44 



Next day. 
Last night there was another attempted air raid on 
Paris by the Germans but I guess they did n't get past 
the barrage. However, it was mighty exciting and about 
the noisiest one we have had since I 've been here. 
Al and I were having a little supper of cheese and 
confiture before retiring, when we half heard, half 
sensed, way off in the distance, the siren. Could any- 
thing be more irritating? We were awfully sore and 
bored. So we calmly went on with our cheese and the 
sirens went on swelling. All would have remained very 
pleasant had not the lights suddenly been turned off 
so that there was nothing for us to do but put on coats, 
take our searchlight and step over to the open window 
to observe the " doings " and " fireworks." Out boomed 
the defense guns, up in the sky shells burst like 
rockets, and faint white streaks from the searchlight 
swept through the night.As our eyes became accustomed 
to the dark we picked out two huge " Saucisse " wait- 
ing and watching, and then after a bit the purring of 
our own planes way over head. It is really a wonderful 
thing, these night thrills. After a bit the guns quite 
near us began bursting forth, and we thought it was 
time to descend to the first floor. But you know it is 
awfully strange, how calm and tranquil one can feel in 
the midst of these raids — finally you get so bored, and 
what 's more, sleepy beyond control — you just say to 
your friends, " Well, I have a feeling that they won't 
get over tonight, and I for one am going to retire. You 

45 



might rather be killed by a bomb from a Gotha than to 
die of a cold or ennui." So we decided to quit the cave, 
stumble back to our pitch black rooms and I roll into 
bed. But Al stands firmly in the window, a little for- 
lornly to be sure, and says to me a bit peevishly, " I 
don't see how you can go to bed now, when all this 
excitement is going on, I 'm awfully thrilled." Well, 
thrilled or no — just as I am dropping off to sleep, and 
as the guns are booming their loudest, I vaguely hear 
Al fall heavily into her bed and no doubt she is asleep 
before she really touches the mattress. 
Pa, I got your letter this morning. I loved it so, but as 
far as my horrible handwriting is concerned, please 
have someone type my epistles before you have to 
struggle over them. I know my writing is terrible 
beyond description, but I really can not help it and am 
always in such a hurry that that makes things even 
worse. I 'm awfully sorry for you all. 
My heavens ! but it 's warm and we did have a long 
day at the office. Now I can sympathize with real work- 
ing girls and men. This steady grind is no joke. But 
you know between whiles the exciting thing that I had 
planned for myself for tonight came to me and spurred 
me on to Herculean efforts. And what was the party I 
was dreaming of? Well, I bought seven francs worth of 
" f raise du bois " and two pots full of " creme de 
Normandie " (in my own behalf, let me say that the 
pots were very small). I fetched them home to No. 9 
and what I did n't do to those little babies ! I made a 
46 



meal of them absolutely and I '11 never forget or regret 
that feast. Let Ruth describe such a mess as this more 
fully m» £* 

Now I must go to bed, for we must be up by seven to 
get over to 4 Place de la Concorde by nine. 

Good night, 

Doris. 

Hotel Metropolitan, 
Rue Cambon, Paris, 
May 31st, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

"^TB"2jfE eagerly follow the German drive, and 
^T 1 1 ^B everyone thinks and talks of nothing else. 
W ■ W Yesterday " le canon " was much in evi- 
Vj^,^^ dence, and last night we had a peachy air 
raid which we watched from our window. All this is 
very war-like. But today we had a glimpse of the real 
thing. Al and I went out to the American Ambulance at 
Neuilly to see Mrs. Vanderbilt (W. K.) and ask her if 
she would n't give us some temporary work out there 
until our papers came. She is the head of that marvelous 
hospital as well as our canteen boss and is a wonder. 
She took Al and me all through the building, which is 
enormous — 1200 beds — and we were weak-kneed at 
the suffering of all those poor boys. The hospital is 
jammed full with beds in all the halls and corridors, 
but I saw the most pathetic sight of all on one staircase 
and landing, where a crowd of boys in dirty and torn 

47 



khaki were sitting and lying, just off the ambulances 
and waiting for the nurses and doctors to attend to 
them. Their eyes were the saddest thing to see. We 
looked into one of the operating rooms and Al saw the 
surgeon taking shrapnel from a boy's leg, the joints of 
the hip-bone all exposed. I did n't look long enough to 
take in what was going on. We talked to the boys and 
they seemed so glad to see us. 

And tomorrow we are to report out there early to do 
any kind of work we are asked to — give drinks to the 
boys, cheer them up, make beds, etc., etc. 
Now I 'm going to bed to be rested for " demain," so 
" bon soir." 

June 1st, 1918. 
Ciel ! but my first day in a hospital has been an eventful 
one. We arrived at the American Ambulance at about 
9 A. M., laden with chocolate, gum and cigarettes, and 
were put right to work. I spent all morning making 
innumerable beds, hundreds of which had just been 
evacuated and were to be ready for the rush of wounded 
who are pouring in every day. 

At noon we ate in the huge basement dining-room with 
scores of other nurses and aides and quite felt and 
looked one of them in our canteen blue aprons, white 
collars and coifs. Then the interesting work began. 
We fed and visited the men. I washed a poor kid's 
head who was all cut up on his entire left side, head as 
well. Wrote a letter for an old peasant lady whose son 
had just had his leg amputated — she was really almost 
48 



dying with grief and a throbbing heart, and when she 
tried to stand up, fell heavily into my arms — I tried to 
comfort her. Then I almost keeled over when I assisted 
at the dressing of a boy's arm which was too horrible 
to describe. I had to hold the arm, which after a few 
minutes became so heavy that I felt like screaming, 
and every time I moved it in the least, the poor boy 
would screw up in agony. The whole elbow joint was 
exposed and gangrene had set in so that the odor was 
frightful. Poor little kid ! he is only nineteen. He was 
as plucky as could be, but anxious, and asked the 
doctor if he thought he would be good for active duty 
again — the doctor said no. He has a bad wound in the 
abdomen, too. 

Then I stood beside a fellow who was coming out of 
ether and heard the most amusing line of talk in the 
world. I could enjoy it after the nurse had assured me 
that the man was not dangerously ill — shrapnel in the 
cheek, shoulder and left side. He would mutter, " Ten 
cent fool to join the army! Lieutenant, G... D... Lieu- 
tenant, I would n't butcher a horse the way he did my 
shoulder. Give me the French doctors anyway, been in 
the war longer. Oh gee ! I 'm the worst horse thief in 
Montana, you bet. And I got my two Germans, too, you 
bet. Worst horse thief in Montana," etc. Poor man! 
Then I relieved an aide while she took an evening off 
and gave the men in her ward their supper and found 
one of them from Elmira, N. Y. who talked hungrily 
about Rochester and Watkins Glen. 

49 



Of course, the most terrible time is when the dressings 
are being done, and you pass cot after cot of boys 
suffering so. But it is such wonderful work and you 
forget yourself so completely that I would like to do 
just this rather than any other kind of work. 
As I left the hospital at about seven this evening, I 
asked one of the ambulance drivers if there were any 
more wounded coming in tonight and he said that they 
had just had word that there are two thousand up at 
La Chapelle now. That means tomorrow many more 
new faces. We are going to be out at 8.30 in the morning. 
€[ I thought of Bessie so many times today as I wiped 
the perspiration from one boy's face who was very ill, 
held heads up for drinks of cocoa and water and listened 
to many tales of blood and battle. How Bess would 
love " comforting them! " 

As for the " offensive," the Germans still press on 
toward Paris, and every night we are wakened by the 
sirens and barrage against the enemy planes. But I 
care not a whoop for anything now but to help make 
those poor Sammies more comfortable. 
You see Neuilly is used as the evacuation hospital for 
our men coming from the Front, and after they have 
been fixed up there, they are sent South. So every day 
we clear out some and fill in with fresh wounded. I 
know where the Buffalo Base Hospital is, so if I have 

appendicitis or anything, can run down to V 

I saw Howard VanderVoort the other day, who was 
just up from the Somme for a few days. Said that their 
50 



ambulance squad had received a second citation which 
entitles each man to wear a shoulder cord. Saw Some- 
body Sikes and had a nice chat with him, and have seen 
George Rand several times and run into Tom Ramsdell 
every time I go to Morgan-Harjes. Just received a 
letter from Bernard Montelegre, my French aviator 
godson, and would n't be surprised to have him appear 
on the scene some fine day, but not till this terrible 
push is over — no one thinks of anything else but that 
now £•» 5^ 

Major and Mrs. Olds were here to dinner tonight, and 
Father and Mother, you can feel perfectly comfortable 
with them taking such in interest in us. Major Olds is 
just like Howard, a wonder! 

I '11 write again but must go to bed in view of a long 
day's work tomorrow. 

Love, Doris. 

Hotel Metropolitan, 
Paris, France, 
June 3d, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

OUR hospital is like a great surging sea, with 
every day a new wave of wounded boys 
coming in and the ones not too ill moving 
out. I call them " The Heroes of Cantigny." 
It is so queer to go into the wards each morning and 
see new faces looking up into yours, nearly always still 
dirty and bloody. Yesterday I made my first bandage, 

51 



and I can tell you I went at it gingerly ; the boys smile 
when I ask if I am hurting them, and one poor kid 
whose cut face I was dressing said, " You make me 
laugh when you think you 're hurting me." You see the 
doctors are so much quicker and rougher. We are not 
supposed to take the last layer of dressing off, but the 
boys say, " Nurse, is that sticking ?" And if we say it 
is, they say, " Go ahead and pull it off before the 
doctor comes." 

We have a British "Tommy" who is suffering agonies, 
and today I helped move him from his bed onto the 
stretcher to be taken up to the operating room. He 
screamed like a wild thing and kept looking up into 
my face so pleadingly. I kept stroking his forehead and 
talking to him, and then went with him through the 
corridors and up in the lift. I told the two French 
stretcher bearers that if they would be extra careful, 
I 'd give them each two cigarettes, and I tell you they 
simply crawled. And then when the kid came down 
again (he is only a kid, 19 years old yesterday) I gave 
him some sweet chocolate. He ate it and then looked 
up and said in his weak, hoarse way, " Noice." ''What," 
said I. Again, " Noice, Noice." By this time I thought 
he must be dying and that he had just strength enough 
left to call to me " Nurse." So leaning way down close 
to him I said, " What do you want, son? " " Oi say 
hit's noice." The chocolate was nice and he liked it! si* 
I 'm helping out in three large wards as nurse's aide, 
taking temperatures, pulses, cleaning the rooms, 
52 



making beds and helping feed the men, etc. I 'm having 
a circus in the Officers' Ward. Just by luck got identified 
with the only officers' ward in the hospital. The men 
are adorable and so different from most of the other 
fellows. There is one big Fraser Sullivan — his double, 
I think. He came in yesterday, and when I tried to help 
him up a bit so that he could eat, I felt just like a fly 
trying to move an elephant. " My, but you 're a big 
one," I said. " I sure am, all right, too big for this bed 
and too big for this world I guess." He has a bad thigh 
wound. I adore him and love cutting his meat and 
cozying him. There 's a peach of a fellow from near 
Leavenworth, Kansas. He was buried alive for three 
and a half hours and is pretty well crushed all along his 
right side — a Second-Lieutenant. He likes to talk to 
me. I found a new boy in the officers' ward this noon 
when I went to help serve the luncheons. He was 
lying there with his eyes open and seemed quite 
normal, so I set a luncheon tray on his bed " comme 
habitude." But a Lieutenant called over, " That fellow's 
just coming out of ether." So I took away the tray and 
sat beside him for a while. He just stared at me, but 
finally his eyes grew more " seeing " and I said, " How 
do you feel? " Then he started right in telling me about 
his wounds, etc. He is an observer with a French 
Esquadrille. His machine was attacked by seven 
German planes and hit by three bullets from machine- 
guns. The plane crashed to the ground and was com- 
pletely wrecked, but the French pilot not even scratched. 

53 



This boy has a broken arm and machine-gun wound in 
the shoulder. 

And so it goes. I could fill page after page with things 
like this. And the tales we 've been told straight hand 
of real war. It is wonderful ! I adore this work and now 
really expect to be kept on out there indefinitely. 
Mrs. Vanderbilt told us today that she had told Major 
Perkins what " perfectly splendid " work we three 
girls were doing, and he said for us to stay on there and 
not think about canteen work for a while. But one never 
knows. This is war and we are used to being ordered 
hither and thither now. €[ How funny ! You know I 
just closed my eyes for a minute to think and the first 
thing I knew I was seeing nothing but that poor English 
Tommy's face and blue, blue eyes. 
Now I must write to my two French godsons, Joseph 
Duyck and Bernard Montelegre, and then go to bed so 
Don't worry one bit about me, Mother or Father, I am 
wetter than I 've ever been before, am having all the 
good food I need and all 's well. 

As far as this terrible battle that is going on now is 
concerned, we only have time for a brief glance at the 
morning and evening papers to see how near Paris 
the Huns are getting, and then forget all about the 
outcome and think of war only in terms of wounded so 
I received Ruth's letter this morning and loved it, all 
about Ellen Becker and about Fraser being married, 
etc. But who is he marrying? More later. 

Love, Doris. 

54 



Hotel Metropolitan, 

Rue Cambon, 

Paris, France, 

June 4th, 1918. 

Dear Family : 

GAN it be true ! ! The Allies have taken 50,000 
prisoners today at Chateau Thierry. It is 
too wonderful and we hardly know what to 
do to let off the exuberance bubbling up 
inside us. It came as such a surprise. 
You see we had had a long day at the hospital, and 
when we were putting on our coats in the dressing- 
room, some white-haired lady proceeded to unburden 
the most disheartening tales she had just heard — that 
we were evacuating as many of our wounded as we 
possibly could, that we were getting no new ones, and 
that the Huns were coming right along on to Paris. 
Well, we were too sick. All those hundreds of wounded 
men upstairs and still we had not been able to hold the 
Germans! We came on into Paris, and this was the 
first thing that greeted us— FIFTY THOUSAND 
GERMAN PRISONERS TAKEN TODAY AT CHA- 
TEAU THIERRY! As I say, we almost exploded, and 
to celebrate, six of us marched over to Weber's on 
Rue Royal to have a peach melba for dessert. Now 
what will the morning paper have to say? What if it 
were n't so after all? 

I did some bandaging today and learned many other 
new things. This is the most congenial, interesting 

55 



work I have ever done, and I am happier than a lark, 
in spite of the sad things I am seeing all the time. But 
after all, the boys are pretty happy out there in the 
hospital, so much better off than in the trenches, and 
most wounds heal rapidly. Oh ! it is quite beautiful the 
way they respond to anything we do for them. 
The officers' ward say they are going to ask for me to 
have for their aide. They say I 'm their sunshine. The 
big " Fraser Sullivan " is the nicest boy I 've ever 
known, and I know I shall weep when he leaves. I had 
to squelch one of them today for squeezing my hand. 
" Nothing doing," said I, " that won't do here at all.". 
He was quite humbled. They give me candy, one gave 
me a bullet, and yesterday I did some shopping for 
some of them and one tried to make me take fifty 
francs " to pay for my taxi," another five francs " to 
buy myself something," and so on. It is really very 
touching — you see, they are all so lonesome. 
Oh ! I do hope that I can get a bigger bed for " Fraser " 
tomorrow. He is altogether too long for that one he 's 
in. Most of the boys are better today, and so I suppose 
they soon will be evacuated and sent on South. You 
know it is one of the saddest things to have a patient 
you have become interested in spirited away just as 
he is beginning to be a little better. 
I must go to bed now and will write more another day. 

June 6th, 1918. 
So far we have not had an official announcement 
56 



regarding the 50,000 prisoners, but people still seem 
to trust in the report and every day we expect to see it 
verified s+ so 

But still the war goes on and every day more wounded 
pour into the hospital. Just as I left tonight the ambu- 
lances were lined up waiting to unload their " blesses." 
It is a horribly pitiful sight to see the men when they 
first come in, dirty, bloody, and so tired and shaken 
up from their long ride in ambulance train or auto so 
Behold a grand transformation after one night with us ! 
A good night's rest, then the next morning wounds 
dressed, a warm bath and shave and dose of insect 
powder and they look and feel like princes. It is the 
most heartening thing in the world to see them brace 
up like that. 

Shall I tell you my day's schedule, taking today as a 
typical one? Arrived at American Ambulance Hospital 
No. 1, Neuilly, at 8.45 A. M. Went directly to my ward, 
No. 150, to which I have been assigned as official 
nurse's aide, and found eight familiar, smiling faces 
greeting me good morning, four vacant beds evacuated 
early this morning and three dirty woe-begone new 
patients filling three of them. As the surgeon was only 
one ward away, I proceeded to get the boys ready for 
him, taking off their dressings and straightening up 
the ward a bit. One of the new men had yards and 
yards of bandages on him, messy, wet things, which 
took some time to uncoil. Well, then the surgeon came 
along and I helped hold arms and legs while he dressed 

57 



the wounds. When that was finished my watch showed 
eleven o'clock, time to go to the little kitchen, " petite 
cuisine," for three milks for my three " Specials." 
More bedmaking and cleaning up. Then noon and 
Dakins solution poured into the rubber tubes in the 
boys' wounds — there were five such cases in my ward 
today, one kid with six tubes in his body. By that time, 
the luncheons had arrived and I served them, propping 
the boys up in bed and cutting the meat for those with 
arms out of commission. At 12.45 I went down to my 
luncheon and ate with great relish ; then till about 2 
P. M. rested in the girls' dressing-room and talked. 
(I have found so many attractive girls of whom I am 
already very fond.) Up again to my ward (stopping at 
No. 142, officers' ward, to have a chat for a few minutes). 
At 2, Dakins again, and helped the boys change their 
positions if they were not comfortable. They then all 
dozed and slept till about 3.45. A lull in the day's 
" occupation," so ward No. 142 again for me. A big 
fellow from Texas had " goose -fleshy " tales to tell of 
saunters across " No Man's Land " in search of 
prisoners. That 's how he got his wound. He, with 
sixteen of his men, raided a German trench, got one 
prisoner, and while returning to their trench a German 
hand-grenade " got " him, blowing off a huge chunk 
of his thigh. Four of his men carried him back to our 
lines while he fainted, off and on, intermittently. He 
is so fine, and when I look into the room he languidly 
looks over, puts out a weak, welcoming hand and says, 
58 



" Nurse, come on over and talk to me." So I go over, 
but instead of my talking, I listen to his tales of the 
war or Texas. I bring him the New York Herald every 
morning for I know he likes it. " Fraser " and I phi- 
losophize at length as to the best method of bringing 
up children, heredity, environment, etc., etc. He told 
me very sorrowfully that all but two of the officers are 
to be evacuated tomorrow ; they hate to leave. It is too 
sad. When I come in they say, "Ah, here she is!" 
And when I leave they all say, " Come again, Nurse." 
I have more candy and strawberries and cherries and 
things offered me during the day. Ah! but at 3.45 I 
hurried back to my ward, took temperatures and 
pulses, had to wake up most of the boys, and as soon 
as I put the thermometers in their mouths they fell off 
to sleep again, and the thermometers were threatened 
sorely with precipitation. More Dakins at 4, then 
bodies rubbed with aromatic vinegar and powder. 
Supper should have come at 5 but never does till almost 
6. More Dakins at 6 — and free. This sounds like a 
horribly long and difficult day, but I assure you it is 
not. I adore every instant of it and am happier than I 
have ever been before, that is for such a long stretch 
of time — all day long. The only sad thing is when the 
patients go. One boy from Texas leaves tomorrow and 
I shook hands and gave him a package of cigarettes 
and felt very sad. I think each boy has already confided 
to me his love story, past regrets or future hopes. 
You see this work is so welcome to me because I am 

59 



learning so much and I really hate to be changed to 
canteen, but I '11 leave my fate in other hands and will 
go whithersoever I am sent. 
Must close now. Good night. Love, 

Doris. 

Hotel Metropolitan, 
Rue Cambon, Paris, 
June 8th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^^-■■■^^HAT a day! From 8 o'clock this morning 
W I ^ till 8 :30 tonight, I 've washed, fed and 
W I W " aided " the gallant Marines who poured 

^^^^^ into the hospital all day long and still were 
pouring in when I left. The corridors were lined with 
wounded on cots and stretchers, the verandas packed 
with blanket- wrapped, bandaged boys, the stairways 
blocked with khaki-clad, steel-helmeted Yanks. The 
Marines have put up some marvelous fight! Now we 
are putting up tents on the roof verandas to shelter 
more of them. Talk about canteen work! I certainly got 
a taste of it today, running up and down stairs and out 
on the porches with baskets of bread, great kettles of 
meat, potatoes, soup and rice pudding. The boys, with 
hardly one exception, would smile up and say," Gee! 
is this Thanksgiving? This is the first real feed we 've 
had since Decoration Day." Many had not eaten for 
three days. Plucky kids ! I love them all so much. The 
dressings were terribly trying, particularly as the nurses 
60 



had to do them because all the doctors were operating. 
As I say, the corridors were hectic, but when I would 
go into my ward it was like stepping up to heaven ; my 
boys all clean and smiling, roses on the table, and order 
and quiet prevailing. They are getting better every day 
and I swell with joy to see color coming back to my 
three palest kids, two, nineteen and one, twenty-one 
years old — all three pretty well shot up. I had only a 
few minutes to call on the officers, and Lieut. Wood 
said to me in a quiet voice, " Don't ever lose that smile 
of yours." But Lieut. Ward is my real pet, a huge, tall, 
Texan wonder, expert broncho -buster and overseer of 
twenty thousand acres of land. He tells me all about 
life in my beloved West, and I sit open-eyed, drinking 
it in. His tale of the night he was wounded while raid- 
ing a Hun trench for prisoners is the most thrilling tale 
I 've ever heard. And he got his man, too, but was 
wounded with a grenade and machine-gun bullet when 
half way back across " No Man's Land," most of his 
thigh was blown off. No more broncho busting! 
They are coming in now with arms and legs off, but 
don't let me harrow you too much, for after all the 
hospital is really quite heavenly to the men — clean, 
good food and BEDS. And surgical cases are not like 
medical cases, seldom fevers or vomiting, just dress- 
ings, and pain which grows less every day. I took jam 
to my boys today and am going to take butter tomorrow. 
I shall never be able to thank my stars enough for 
having been able to get over here just when I did and 

61 



for the way things have turned out. If you could half 
realize what it means to these Yanks to have American 
girls here to comfort and cheer them, you would be 
building special ships to send more and more overseas. 
Being here is a privilege for which I shall never cease 
to be grateful. 
Now bed. 

June 9th, 1918. 
A nice, very busy day — but not too busy. One of my 
boys was evacuated this morning and four are up and 
dressed. Only six of them to wait on, for the boys that 
are up can not do enough to help me and just hang 
around to make themselves useful. I had four men in 
the corridor, but they were not much care. I sat up one 
while he was coming out of ether, to be there if he was 
sick at his stomach and to help him if necessary. They 
are all too funny while " coming to." Most of them 
swear like troopers. This boy kept muttering over and 
over, " I 've got you, you damned Dutchman, Van Dyke 
and all." Then, " Can I have some writing paper? 
There 's a little old mother in the Bronx that will be 
mighty glad to hear from me." When he was quite out 
of it and normal I heard his war tale — they all want to 
tell that the first thing. " Well, you see, Nurse, we went 
over the top and started running for the enemy's 
trench. Then a rain of bullets started, and the first 
thing I knew a piece of shrapnel got me in the neck. 
The shock threw me down into a shell hole and at the 
same time I looked up and saw a big Dutchman with 
62 



a Van Dyke beard standing over me with a bayonet, 
ready to stick me. I got him first, right through the 
stomach, and then fired my gun and ran. But I got my 
Dutchman, Van Dyke and all." You know those boys 
are the simplest, most courageous souls, and never for 
an instant think they have done much. They tell of 
stopping to give first aid to their comrades amidst a 
rain of bullets and with their arm or leg broken and 
never dream that they have done anything out of the 
ordinary. You will be glad to know that the boy from 
the Bronx was a lucky dog and that the shrapnel went 
right between the jugular vein and an artery. 
Shall I tell you my Texan Lieutenant's tale? I begin, 
" Now tell me just how you got your wound, Lieuten- 
ant." " Well," (very slow and deep and much white 
teeth) " the grenade caught me right in the thigh." 
" No, but from the beginning." Broad grin and " I told 
you yesterday, you know." " No, you didn't tell me 
right from the beginning." " Well, you see we had 
been in the front line trenches for ten days when our 
Captain sent down word that he had n't had any infor- 
mation about the enemy for ten days and that he 
wanted a German prisoner. So I took sixteen men and 
we started out across ' No Man's Land ' at two o'clock 
in the morning, a flanking party on each side, and I in 
the center with one man. We found no barbed wire 
and after crawling about three hundred yards struck 
the German trenches and saw the men in there moving 
about. Just then I heard shooting and realized that the 

63 



Boches had discovered one of our flanking parties. 
There was a nineteen year old kid at my side — he had 
asked to go out with me and never left me till he was 
shot on the way back — and we two wasted no time but 
jumped down into the trench. The Germans dropped 
everything and ran like chickens, the kid and I after 
two of them. The kid thought he was going to lose his 
man, so he shot him dead, and I tore on after mine. 
Well, my man stumbled and fell and I jumped on him. 
I stuck my trench knife (that was all I had, I 'd thrown 
everything else away) into his back just to let him 
know he was caught, and then I grabbed him by the 
collar and started running back across ' No Man's 
Land,' pricking him with my knife just enough to 
keep him going." Long pause — I, " But that 's not all." 
" Oh, then I got hit and fell, and you know, Nurse, the 
only thing I want to do now is to see my two sergeants 
and two corporals get the croix de guerre, or our medal 
for bravery under fire, for the way they stopped and 
picked me up and carried me back through a rain of 
bullets to our trenches. All the other fellows beat it off, 
and if it had n't been for those four men I 'd be lying 
out in ' No Man's Land ' yet. I don't remember much 
else, fainted four times, and came to — once in a shell- 
hole where they were halting for a minute to rest." 
C "And the prisoner did n't get away? " 
" No, sir, we 've got him all right ! But the kid was 
killed, shot clear through the heart." 
If I had time to tell you more — These tales are glorious 
64 



and thrilling. <[ And today Mrs. Vanderbilt broke the 
news that our papers are here for Chantilly and we 
must leave Monday. She says she hates to have us go 
but the need for canteen workers is tremendous and 
it seems best to send us out. I weep to leave the 
hospital, but I know I shall love the canteen work too, 
and then the hospital work will still be here this Winter. 
€1 So tomorrow is our last day. I am sad about it. My 
boys say they want to leave the hospital if I am going. 
We 're such good friends now. 
I must go to bed now — more later. 

Just this. I get goose-flesh and thrills run up my back 
when I read in the papers what our American boys are 
doing. It is too glorious and I am so proud I could yell. 

Good night, 

Doris. 

Morgan-Harjes Cie, 

31 Boulevard Haussmann, 

Paris, France, 

June 10th, 1918. 

Dear Family : 

^** ^^UST a hasty scrawl. We leave in a few 
f\ ■ minutes for Chantilly where we will be in a 
M M, Red Cross canteen for the French Poilus. 

^^^^^ It is a marvelous opportunity and we shall 
see real military life. 

Was sick about leaving the hospital, cried like a baby 
when I said good-bye to the boys, but guess I was 

65 



broken up on account of having one of my boys die 
about a half hour before I left. It was a horrible shock, 
as I was told to watch him carefully because he was 
coining out of ether, but given no warning as to how 
serious his case was. Poor lad, he never did come out, 
and toward evening when I went over to look at him, 
he was covered with huge beads of perspiration which 
I wiped off his chest and face. One of the boys said, 
" Gee, he 's hot." About five minutes later I went over 
again — he lay there quite white and still, dead. It was 
too shocking — fractured skull. I wrote his mother and 
told her I was proud to have been able to be that last 
day with her soldier son, who had given his life for our 
glorious cause. 

Love, 

Doris. 
I adore your letters. Just got two from Mother, May 
19th and 20th, and one from Ruth, May 13th. 

Cantine des deux Drapeaux, 
Orry-la-Ville, Oise, France, 
June 12th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

QOW we are having thrills, and I must be 
careful what I write, not so much from fear 
of the censor as from my own sense of duty. 
We are asked not to repeat anything we see 
around here, so you can imagine how interesting things 
are in this locality. 
66 



We are living in Chantilly and take the train at 7.15 
A. M. for Orry, where we work in the canteen till about 
3.30 P. M., then come home in a camion (truck). This 
afternoon Al and I went with the- truck-driver after 
supplies for the canteen, and he took us where not many 
girls get a chance to go. I tell you that has been our 
biggest thrill so far. When I get home I '11 tell you about 
the things we saw. Events are marching rapidly around 
here now, but don't worry about us. The Red Cross 
has us under her wing and looks out for her workers 
as a mother for her child. 

France is gay with fields of wild red poppy and blue 
bachelor buttons and the yellow hay is being mowed 
by picturesque old men and women. Suddenly one 
comes upon barbed wire entanglements and trenches 
built to hold the Huns in 1914 — they are sinister and 
stern out in those peaceful fields. 

During the day we hear the distant boom of cannon 
and the hum of our aeroplanes overhead ; at night, the 
throbbing of the German motors on their way to Paris. 
€[ The roads are all blue with marching Poilus and 
the roadsides sprinkled with soldiers sleeping. 
This morning at about four, I waked to the sound of 
shuffling footsteps. Al and I jumped up and looked 
down at the narrow village road that runs beneath our 
window to see hundreds of trudging troops passing in 
the dim light of dawn. Grey-blue coats, grey-blue steel 
helmets, grey-blue leggings and heavy equipment of 
rifles, canteens, blank rolls, etc. Later — clip, clip of 

67 



many horses passing and we saw a troop of grey-blue 
cavalry file past. And so it goes. 

I served about 1,000 Poilus to soup this noon — this 
was a quiet day. Canteening is all right, but I so adored 
hospital work that the contrast makes me sad. 
We talk to our American boys whenever we see them 
anywhere and have had such nice chats. Everyone is so 
free and we are joined with a bond so strong — the 
U, S. A. — I thrill to even write those three letters — 
they mean so much to me now. I am so proud of the 
way our boys are fighting, their spirit is so brilliant and 
boyish. The French are filled with enthusiasm over 
them — so many have said they would give three English 
for one American. But the Poilus seem to like and 
understand our sunny Yanks better than they do the 
more reserved Tommies. 

I have two great Parisian girl friends who are most 
congenial, and crazy about Americans. They both want 
to come to America after the war and it will be such 
fun to have them visit me at home. 
Father, dear, your birthday will be very soon now. I 
won't try to cable you because cablegrams are so 
unsatisfactory, but here is all the love in the world, 
and many, many kisses, three huge hugs, dear old 
Papa, many happy returns of the day. 
More later — now bed. Ever more love. 

Doris. 



68 



Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
Orry-la-Ville, Oise, France, 
June 13th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

DUR canteen is the one nearest the front 
now, and I can not get over how lucky we 
were to be sent out here, right within sound 
of the booming cannon. 
The German planes go over us every night, but there 
seems to be a feeling here that they do not want to 
bomb Chantilly on account of the Chateau. The Crown 
Prince made his headquarters there in 1914 and so 
probably expects to do the same this time. "A fool 
there was ! " Does he think that the French are so 
hospitable that they will entertain such a guest twice ! 
But really you know, I should n't be surprised if he 
did think so, the German imagination is so well- 
developed 8* £•» 

Yesterday a bunch of about forty French bombing 
planes flew over our canteen at Orry. It was a glorious 
sight to see those great birds up in the blue, and it 
seemed so pure and clean and cool up there — I was 
hot and messy and covered with coffee and chocolate 
and other " alimentation." I spent about four hours in 
the " Gout de Cafe " yesterday, every instant serving 
hot coffee and chocolate to hundreds of Poilus. The 
only trouble is that you are so busy pouring that you 
hardly have an instant to speak to them or even to get 
a look at their faces. They are wonderful though, so 

69 



grateful for anything done for them. It is killing to hear 
the remarks they make at the counter, quite in a low 
voice too, so as not to be fresh at all — they call one a 
" jolie fleure " (pretty flower) and a " gentille plante " 
and then say " Mademoiselle, you are very kind to the 
Poilus." Poor fellows! all ages from quite bent old men 
of fifty to youngsters just nineteen. The young ones are 
all so keen to get to the fight, it is quite refreshing to 
see them. 

Shall I tell you what our canteen is and what it does? 
C Orry is a camp for " permissionaires " (soldiers on 
permission). The men who are coming back to the 
front from their furloughs stop off here, are sorted out, 
and then sent back to their regiments at the front. 
Some spend only a few hours, others several days. 
Those who stop over camp in the forests of Orry come 
to our canteen for food, rest, and as much enjoyment 
as we can give them, which consists of a Victrola, 
writing paper, and a " Cinema " run by a French- 
woman. We serve them three meals a day and all day 
long hot coffee, chocolate, sandwiches, hard-boiled 
eggs and bread in the " Gout." We girls do all the work 
excepting the actual cooking and dish washing. We 
make salad, serve the food, cut the bread (this is a real 
job, too, hundreds of pieces a day) make sandwiches, 
etc., etc., etc., etc. We are supposed to be on eight 
hour shifts, but sometimes it runs over, though our 
Directrice, Mrs. Church (by the way, a great friend of 
the Hoyts) is very careful and takes splendid care of us. 
70 



d Yesterday I got a letter from Joseph Duyck enclosing 
a German number which he took off a dead soldier in 
the forest of E.... in his first fight. Is n't it interesting 
to have it ! He and also Montelegre have both asked 
to come to see me here. I should love to see them very 
much s©» s* 

You know I feel quite real, having a gas mask and steel 
helmet. I only hope I can keep them to bring home and 
make all your eyes open, but they belong to the Red 
Cross and I 'm not sure they will let me. 
Well folks, please keep on writing. You can not know 
what your letters mean to me, all the cozy home gossip 
is better than a materialized ice-cream soda. Ask 
everyone to write if they get a chance. I 've heard from 
Mother, Father, Ruth, Don, How, Gert, Mrs. Bangs, 
Dunbar, Nat Stimson, Helen Crosby and Dodo. I think 
that is all from Buffalo. What is the matter with the 
rest of my family and friends? Please publish this in 
the "Want" Ads: 

WANTED : Everyone who knows her to write to Miss 
Doris Kellogg, " Somewhere in France." 
We are really not supposed to tell where we are but I 
can't see the harm. I do send my letters to Paris to 
be mailed — it 's safer. 

Ever love, 

Doris. 



71 




The White House, 

Chantilly, Oise, 

France, 

June 18th, 1918. 

Dear Family : 

OU can not picture a more adorable little 
house than this one in which we live in 
Chantilly. It belonged to an Englishwoman 
and is a perfect jewel. Beautiful old furniture, 
low ceilings, rambling hallway, and the quaintest wall- 
paper I 've ever seen. About eight of us live here 
together with two maids, and the best food in the world, 
and very cheaply. Some of the girls bicycle to Orry 
through the forests, but not for mine — I get enough 
exercise at the Cantine and the train appeals to me 
more. It is a ten minutes ride by rail. 
Chantilly is the quaintest of villages, close up to one 
of the largest and most beautiful forests in France. In 
the Spring the woods are full of lilies-of-the-valley and 
violets, and there are miles and miles of most wonderful 
bridle paths. You see Chantilly is the most famous 
racing center in France; that is, was before the war. 
Now the smart hotels, and even the Jockey Club, have 
been turned into hospitals. Yesterday I saw six beautiful 
horses ridden by jockeys, going through the forest, and 
it seemed quite pathetic to think that now for four 
years these spirited animals have been eating their 
heads off in stables. 

How I curse the luck that made me leave my kodak in 
72 




THE WHITE HOUSE," CHANTILLY, FRANCE 



New York! Hundreds of times a day I long for it. Every 
Poilu is a picture, and when I see a group of them 
resting by the roadside or in the forest, their bayonets 
and knapsacks stacked beside them, it is almost more 
than I can stand. But, of course, to get satisfactory 
photos, one should be able to take colored ones — this 
glorious " bleu claire " against the green grass, the 
black tree trunks, the blue sky above — it 's 
thrilling ! I think of all the dashing uniforms I 've 
seen, the " Chausseure " takes the cake — dark blue 
uniform, black tarn jauntily cocked on side of head, 
and chest covered with almost every medal possible 
to obtain, for the Chausseures have been the most 
brilliant of all the splendid French troops. I said to Al 
today, " Have you ever known anything like the number 
of smart-looking French officers? " They pass us by 
scores in staff cars every day, and many get out and 
have a drop of something in the sidewalk cafes here in 
Chantilly. Their tan or blue uniforms fit them to a tee, 
and with the scarlet and blue, or scarlet and black caps 
trimmed with gold or silver braid, they look like doll 
soldiers. So many of the Frenchmen are dark, black 
moustaches and hair, against creamy complexions. 
They certainly are gorgeous. But the real joy when I 
see a rough-and-ready khaki-clad figure coming down 
the street ! I spot him yards ahead, and then, when on 
closer inspection I see the U. S., I am ready to hug him. 
We always shake hands and chat a while and then 
always the question — " What part of the States are 

73 



you from? " If it happens that we are both from New 
York State that is the key that unlocks all reticence and 
floods of conversation follow. 

Now I think that next to seeing the dead and wounded 
on the battlefield, I must have come nearer today to 
the horrors of war than ever before. There is a large 
tent hospital, or hospital camp, springing up here in 
Chantilly on the famous race course. This afternoon I 
went to take oranges to the men and found those long 
tent wards the saddest thing in the world. They have 
only " grands blesses " here, and so every one of those 
poor devils is pretty nearly done for. Two or three that 
we saw were dying, but as the nurse urged us to, we 
gave them each an orange and got back a brave smile 
and, " Merci, Mademoiselle." The Directrice, a charm- 
ing French baroness, was so grateful to us and asked if 
we could get them safety pins, rubber sheeting and so 
on from the American Red Cross. This hospital camp 
is such an interesting sight, set out in the wonderful 
green fields, and on one side the tents sheltered by the 
trees of the forest of Chantilly. In the grass are spread 
two huge white canvases with red crosses painted on 
them to protect the camp from Hun air raids(tragic 
sarcasm). The blue sky is so clear and beautiful and 
the forest so peaceful that it is a tremendous shock to 
step into one of those long, white rooms and see the 
rows of drawn and suffering faces. 
You see the French are so poor. The Baroness told us 
74 



that they need so many, many things. Then added, 
" You see, we are all so poor, our families have lost or 
given all we had, and our men have all been killed." 
If anyone would like to send me money to give toward 
cases such as this, I can assure you that it will be turned 
to the most splendid use. 

A few months ago I should never have dreamed that I 
could be of any use in a hospital, but I seem to take to 
the work like a duck to water, and the odor of ether 
and things makes me quicken with enthusiasm to be 
back in a ward again. 

As we were leaving one of the tents, a dust-covered 
ambulance arrived from the Front and two of the four 
blesses were unloaded. Poor devils! Both Moroccans 
with dumb, suffering eyes. You see we are only fourteen 
miles from the front, so the "grand blesses" are brought 
right on down by auto ambulance. 

Must close now for a while. Al is on night duty at the 
canteen, so Muggsy is sleeping in her bed this week. 
We have had a rather slow time the last few days, as 
all permissions have been stopped on account of the 
offensive, but we hear they are to begin soon, and so 
we shall have again our thousands of Poilus a day to 
feed and cheer. 

I am in the bread room and " remboursement " this 
week. Take the 7.15 morning train for Orry, and go as 
soon as I arrive into the bread room and proceed to cut 
bread and croutons by the hundreds of loaves. Then at 
eleven, I take the Victrola out to my " remboursement " 

75 



cage, where the men come to return their luncheon 
trays and to be reimbursed the one franc which we ask 
as a deposit for their dishes. With the franc, we hand 
each man a cigarette and an American flag. As soon as 
the music starts, the Poilus begin to cluster about — 
they adore music, and I always find several darling 
ones and we have nice times together, singing and so on. 
C I wish I could paint the picture I have before me 
now as I sit in my little cage : the Poilus' dining-room — 
very long and low, rafters gaily decorated with flags of 
the Allies, rows of tables and benches on the sand 
floor — and in the dim, smoky light hundreds of grey- 
blue Poilus eating, little young 1918's, and all ages up 
to quite bent old men — then scattered amongst the 
blue, khaki-clad black men with scarlet fezzes. 
Every day some of the men come up to me and thank 
me for what we are doing for them — " Vous etes tres 
aimable pour les Poilus, chere Mademoiselle." I can 
not exaggerate my admiration for the great French 
nation. They are truly a blue steel wall that the Huns 
will never be able to break through. But I must just 
whisper that sometimes I get hopelessly bored with 
compliments and pleasantries from drunken soldiers. 
Poor souls! I try to be charitable and sociable — as 
when one poor old toper hauled out the photos of his 
wife and three lovely children at least twelve times the 
other night to show me, and I wept with him when 
he told me his sad story. The Germans have been 
living in his home for the past four years — his family 
76 



fled to Northern France but are still under bombard- 
ment, he has n't seen them since the beginning of the 
war. All his worldly goods gone. Let him drink his 
sorrows away ! And forget for a while his hell on earth. 
My, what pluck have these peasants of France! We see 
family after family of refugees stream wearily along the 
country roads. Old, old women with faces like dried 
apples sitting high up on the great two-wheeled farm 
wagons, old men and children trudging at the heads of 
the oxen harnessed to the carts. 

Today, headed North, a veritable herd of white oxen 
were driven through town. I counted forty -two of them, 
some pulling loads of household furniture and others 
yoked together and guided by women and children. 
The cavalcade created quite a stir in the village, and 
as it passed the news stand, our old paper lady got 

awfully excited and called out, " Oh, Madame C , 

once more good day and good luck!" Then she explained 
to us that this was a large family of much importance, 
who owned a farm of many acres up North, and were 
making their third return trip home through Chantilly, 
after having been driven three times from their home 
by the Germans. I ran into the country store and bought 
a big bagful of plums, and when I laid it in the baby 
carriage that a tired mother was pushing, she thanked 
me with such a dull look of suffering in her eyes. 
How firmly rooted they are to the soil that they were 
born on ! Not even the fear of death can keep them long 
away. Good night, Doris. 

77 



The White House, 
Chantilly, France, 
June 19th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

BT last I have seen the " terrible Boche " — 
seven hundred prisoners just went through 
Chantilly, fresh from the front. Oh, let me 
omit that " fresh " — for they were anything 
but that, just a worn-out bedraggled bunch of Fritzies. 
First four hundred of them shuffled past me on the 
road, and then I followed them till they were halted 
along the railroad tracks beside the empty freight cars 
which were to take them South. As I was staring at 
them with firm mouth, I saw another bunch coming 
along. I beat it out to the road and saw three hundred 
more, about ten officers in the first fines. I looked at 
them pretty closely and found that most of them were 
quite young boys, many of them very sickly and thin. 
Of course they were prisoners and that meant probably 
had been fighting hard these past few days — at any 
rate they were pretty tired, but even so, I think them a 
much less formidable bunch than the French, and of 
course a thousand times less fit than our boys. I really 
tried quite hard to get up some feeling of hate toward 
those " terrorizing Huns," but I simply could not 
manage it, they were so thin-necked, and pinched about 
the eyes. The officers looked a million times better 
kept than the men, and were goose-stepping along in an 
unapproachable manner. The Fritzies' uniforms were 
78 



pretty seedy, patched and faded, but a marvelous color 
as far as camouflage goes, gfey- green that quite melts 
into the landscape, and steel helmet the same color — 
some camouflaged — which comes quite down over the 
ears and protects also the back of the neck. Only a few 
had their helmets and the others wore those little 
round caps with a scarlet band. The French guards 
were too good to them. They brought them water, let 
them lounge on the grass, and I saw a Poilu even give 
one a cigarette. Every night they bring prisoners through 
here, so I shall make another trip to the station soon so 
I took some champagne and other things over to the 
hospital camp today. The Directrice was charmed and 
said that the head doctor had just said, " If we only had 
some champagne for our grands blesses." I am getting a 
Victrola in Paris for the hospital — the less ill ones will 
adore it. 

I can not get over this wonderful opportunity we are 
having to see the war in all its interesting aspects. 
Every day many thrilling thiDgs occur; and then, on 
top of all that, to think we are living in an adorable 
little house with an ideal cook and that we are in the 
strawberry province of France. I have tasted luscious 
strawberries at " Lochevan," but I tell you that Chan- 
tilly " fraises du bois " and the larger garden variety 
are the most delectable fruit I have ever eaten — no 
exaggeration — one needs no sugar on them, they are 
so sweet and juicy. 

I wonder if I have told you the exciting news of the 

79 



many proposals of marriage which I have had from 
different Poilus since I 've been at Orry. It is too killing. 
Today, I was eating a sandwich in the kitchen doorway 
and that seemed to be just too domestic and tempting 
to a blue-clad — (Oh, glorious! there go six aeroplanes 
flying over my head bound for the front, with the sun- 
light shining on their wings) — just too domestic and 
tempting to a blue-clad soldat standing near. We 
chatted a bit and then he said in a quiet voice and very 
significantly, " Will you marry? " I laughed and said 
" No." " Pourquoi?" said he. " Too much else to do 
now," said I. " Mais non, it is a good time for marry- 
ing." And so on. I was too polite to leave him but got 
more and more embarrassed till finally I simply had 
to break away and left him quite crestfallen out there 
in the forest. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
Orry-la-Ville, Oise, France, 

June 21st, 1918. 
Dearest Father : 

^'^^^^'ODAY I discovered a great admirer of 
m C\ Spencer Kellogg and Sons' Oils. The person 
^^ I in question is the young man who drives our 

^^^^^ canteen truck. He was Sales Agent for 
Patterson-Sargent for several years. He could not laud 
your oils enough, said he beat every competitor in the 
80 



field and that his bosses thought the world of you. He 
really went on at a great rate about what a fine firm 
you were to do business with, and I felt very proud 
when he finally wound up. 

We have had rather a scare about our letters. I received 
one from Mother today saying that you had not heard 
for two weeks. Al's mother wrote they had not heard 
for twenty-five days, and Mugs' that they have not 
heard for a month. You see instead of censoring the 
letters, if something not according to Hoyle is said, they 
just throw them out and do not send them through the 
mails at all. Can this be what is happening to mine? 
For I am writing on an average of two letters every 
week. This set-back has sort of taken the starch out 
of my sails, and I do not feel as much like writing as I 
did. You see, they warn us not to even mention one 
thing that might be of any use to the enemy, and of 
course the only things we see or do here would certainly 
come under that head. 

I hear that Alice O'Brien of Buffalo is coming up to the 
canteen next door to us as Directrice. It will be quite 
nice to see someone from Buffalo. Before I left Paris 
I saw Sheldon Hodge one day out at some American 
Field Day Sports, but was too bashful to speak to him. 
He certainly looked awfully nice and American. 

Ever love, 

Doris. 



81 



June 25th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

QOW the work is coming so fast and furiously 
that I hardly have time to write. Every day 
new sights are seen and new experiences 
lived through. The tales I am getting from 
these Poilus are dramatic enough to fill many book 
covers. We are running two canteens and that makes us 
have to double up on our work — so you can imagine 
how we have to scurry. But work certainly agrees with 
me and I am in fine health — and not losing weight — 
alack- a- day $*■ $*■ 

We were asked to take over the canteen at Serveilliers, 
the next railroad stop from Orry, where the soldiers 
are taken care of on their way home from the Front 
and yesterday we had a most exciting day, moving into 
our new quarters. The building had been closed up on 
account of the permissions having been stopped, but 
as the army has commenced giving them again, we 
were called upon to fill this emergency. We rushed 
down to Serveillers in train and camion, and when we 
approached the place saw a huge sea of blue covering 
every inch of ground about " Les Deux Drapeaux " — 
three or four thousand happy Poilus on their way Home. 
As the gate was locked, Mrs. Church told me to crawl 
through the fence while they waited for the key. 
Instantly I was lost in that swaying mass of men. Gee, 
but I was a bit excited, especially when one danced up 
to me and stroked my chin. But you really can not 
82 



imagine how terribly severe I can be now. I simply 
gave him a push and said, " Prenez garde " in furious 
tones. We opened up the canteen and were serving 
cocoa and sandwiches in less than twenty minutes. 
Then the real excitement began — I was told to take a 
basket of sweet chocolate down to the trains which 
were full of hungry men — one stick each. They saw me 
coming and called, "Ah, ici, chere petite blonde " — 
" Ma jolie fleure," etc. Once more I was almost inun- 
dated with " bleu horizon," hundreds of hands grabbed 
at my basket, and I could hardly keep my feet. You can 
imagine in what quick order that chocolate disappeared. 
Dear old fellows ! They were like a lot of wild young 
boys. And then try to realize they were going home — 
after four months at the Front. After two or three foot- 
ball tackles, a perfect Apollo of an American ambulance 
boy came up with a huge basket of my wares. " I 've 
come to help you," and he did too, though I thought 
there was going to be a " free-for-all." He got a bit 
" riled " and gave the crowd a couple of good pushes. 
It was about as exciting a position as I 've been in 
since we arrived in France $+ s«» 

Last night I woke up suddenly to the tune of a tremen- 
dous bombardment. At last, thought I, the Huns have 
crept upon us and we have slept so soundly that we 
shall be caught in their net. As I grew more wide awake, 
I distinguished the familiar ear-marks of an air raid; 
and then, cozily, to really a deafening booming, I fell 
off to sleep again. 

83 



Next day. 
Too dead to write. Long day with not enough helpers 
at our canteen. One dingy Moroccan brought me three 
flowers, or rather the heads of flowers. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 
Canteen, Orry, 
June 26th, 1918. 
Dearest Family : 

I HAVE just received mail from Mother and 
Ruth, written June 7th. I can not ever 
express the joy it is to get your letters. It 
is the most glorious thing I have ever exper- 
ienced. You speak of not receiving my epistles — I am 
writing right along, and the only explanation I can 
think of is that they say the censor holds up the mail 
for several weeks instead of opening and reading it. 
Perhaps you will get them all in a bunch. 
Just to emphasize the saying that " The world is a very 
small place after all," let me tell you about my fellow 
workers here. Mrs. Church, our Directrice, is a friend 
of Mrs. Hoyt's ; Miss Rowland lives in Pasadena, 
California, and is a cousin of Jane Preager, a great 
friend of Margaret Coatsworth, and knows George 
Rand ; while Miss Larrabee is from Amsterdam, knows 
all our relatives and her father was Uncle Vedder's 
best friend. Her mother's name was Miss Louise 
Leavenworth and she went to school with Anna and 
Elma and Rebecca Morris. It certainly is fun to find 
84 



that everyone I meet knows some friend of mine. 
C I am snatching time to write this letter in a lull after 
serving " repas." We are only three workers now, as 
all the others are over at Serveillers. I don't mind as it 
gives one an opportunity of trying a hand at every sort 
of work, cashier, cook, bread-cutter, sandwich -maker, 
coffee and chocolate server, " repas " waitress, etc. 
A Poilu presented me with a bowl of luscious " fraises 
du bois " today and I have just eaten them with sugar 
and thick cream — the soldiers go out in the forest and 
pick them — they are too marvelous and their odor is 
sweeter than incense. 

We have a Poilu artist here who is continually seen 
sketching different views of our canteen, etc. The other 
night he brought one he had made of me playing the 
Victrola with two Poilus standing listening. He is doing 
some sketches of the different types of soldiers for me. 
I hope I can really get them from him as they are quite 
interesting &•• $— 

Oh ! I must tell you the killing time we had the other 
day taking snapshots of some Poilus. I asked two quite 
picturesque fellows if they would come out in the sun 
after they had finished eating, while one of the de- 
moiselles took a photo of them. They were delighted 
and soon appeared at the appointed spot. I had quite a 
time making them realize that I wanted their "fusils" 
(rifles) and packs also in the picture and that they 
would please not take off their " casques," (helmets). 
By this time a huge crowd had gathered, all with longing 

85 



eyes ; so I asked them all to crowd up together, and 
when all was ready, apparently, I placed myself in the 
center. But what was this commotion going on at my 
side ! "Attendez, chere Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait, 
je dois porter ma cravate." (Wait, dear Miss, if you 
please, I must put on my cravat) There was great 
excitement for ten minutes while the distracted French- 
man searched his knapsack and finally found and 
arranged his neckcloth, which, by the way, the men 
wear quite independently of any shirt and even in the 
absence of underclothing. Well, the photographer at 
last caught the sunshine and us, and then there was a 
great inundation of names and addresses of each man 
to be sent a portrait of himself in the group. Then they 
must have my name " to write a little word of thanks " 
" Ecrire un petit mot de remerciment." Some of them 
shyly offered me picture postals of their native heaths, 
and one gay cavalier from Corsica was all for taking me 
back there with him. It is so amusing to see what little 
things please these grown-up boys. I '11 send you one 
of the pictures when they 're developed. 
We had a " swanky " young aviator the other day for 
luncheon. I started to serve him over the counter with 
the other Poilus when I saw, actually, a wild look come 
into his eyes. "Ah mademoiselle, pardon, but have 
you a dining-room for officers? " " Mais oui, Monsieur, 
I beg your pardon." And then I asked him around to 
our dining-room where we always serve the officers. 
I certainly made a faux pas. He was a Chevalier of the 
86 



Legion d'Honneur, croix de guerre, with palm and five 
stars. I had a nice talk with him and he quite touched 
me with his appreciation of the work we American 
women were doing over here. It is very touching, the 
French nation's gratitude and admiration for us. They 
have such beautiful ways of expressing their thanks — 
" Vous etes si devoue pour nous. " (your devotion for 
us is so great) — we hear that over and over again. And 
the remarkable thing is that it is not only the officers 
who have all the manners, our good old Poilus are 
right on the job too. For instance, they never think of 
questioning the change of their money, I have more than 
once tested that out. Fortunately I think I find my mis- 
take before it is too late and can straighten things out, 
but they are always there with " But it does n't matter, 
don't bother, Mademoiselle." 

Well, I must pull myself away from the absorbing sub- 
ject of the Poilus and answer your remarks, Mother. 
I think the ring for Tot a splendid idea. There is nothing 
my interest and affection could be better represented 
in than a ring of my favorite opal. All the love in the 
world goes with it and many thought waves for wonder- 
ful things for " ittie Totsie." Tell her never to get 
depressed because if she could see the splendid, husky 
French youths who have been in the war since 
1914 and have never even been scratched, and also 
the ones who have been wounded several times and 
are still whole and in splendid shape, she would 
not fear for Junior. He has as big a chance as 

87 



anyone in the war and that is a great long one s^ 
Gertrude Clark and Andy : I received your two welcome 
letters a few days ago and loved them. I am so glad, 
Andrew, that you have moved to the country. 
" Lochevan " — that word strikes way down deep. I see 
all the dear nooks and crannies and old Lake Erie and 
the woods. Of course, Ma dear, as far as nooks are 
concerned, more or less of them have been cleansed 
and purified from the garden, but nevertheless we can 
still find some in the woods. It 's a lucky thing that you 
and I did n't clear out all the underbrush to make 
vistas 5^ so> 

I think Ruth's description of the party at Spen's after 
Ellen's recital was quite delicious. I have hundreds of 
the happiest memories of 128 Lincoln Parkway. I think 
I have had some of the coziest times in my life up there. 
Edith Sullivan must be in New York now. She hoped to 
go through Paris on her way to Bordeaux but could n't 
make it. I was so disappointed to miss her. 
I read in the paper that Bob Dempster had arrived in 
Paris but you see we were out here in the country, and 
so he could n't get hold of me, I suppose, though I don't 
even know if he tried. 

Honestly, this question of footgear is getting to be 
quite tragic. I have gone through the two or three pairs 
I brought over, and it is literally next to impossible to 
get any decent lasts here. I inquired of a bootmaker 
what he would charge to make me a pair of white 
buckskin oxfords, and he said one hundred fifty francs 
88 



or thirty dollars. Stockings are a problem, too. They are 
such rotten things and go to pieces in no time. Other- 
wise, I have n't found France destitute in any way of 
material or food. One lives here as well as in America. 
C You know what I would like to do tonight? Just fly 
over to " Lochevan " in a French " spad," have all you 
twenty -four family lined up, preferably on the lawn 
between the beach and the house, where the ground 
sinks a bit and holds the heavy rains, then give each 
one a good kiss and hug ; and then come back again 
to Pa and Ma and give them each three more kisses, 
and if Father looked sleepy, muss up his topknot. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

Canteen, 
Somewhere in France, 
June 30th, 1918. 
Chere Famille : 

X GUESS there is some fight on as we have 
heard the booming of cannon all day, since 
early morning. What a dream it all seems ! 
Suffering, hatred, while here at our canteen 
quite a beautiful Sunday peace prevails. It is a glorious 
June day with clear blue sky, and birds singing, and 
only a few stray Poilus sauntering about. I feel so dozy 
sitting out here in Le Gout de Cafe waiting for custom- 
ers, whom I selfishly hope will not be thirsty this after- 
noon so that I can enjoy a bit of relaxation. 

89 



We certainly have had a strenuous week — only three 
workers here to fill three times that many places. 
Sometimes I get pretty tired; but always when I am 
feeling low like that, I have only to raise my eyes and 
look at the patient Poilus walking by, bent under their 
heavy packs, and I straightway brighten up again, 
ashamed to have thought of myself when these fellows 
are so gloriously bearing up. 

You have no idea how many opportunities we have of 
doing a good turn for these men, outside of our official 
canteen duties. Whenever I see an especially pathetic 
specimen, I try to draw him out a bit and then do or 
say something to cheer him up. The other night a quite 
ill young fellow came up to the Victrola, and after I 
heard him draw about four or five deep sighs, I got him 
to tell me his troubles. He has been wounded twice and 
was on his way back to the trenches after a bad gas 
case. His young wife died in December, also his mother 
and father a short time ago ; he has four brothers in the 
war, one a prisoner in Germany, one with two amputa- 
tions ; and the only thing he has left in the world is his 
little girl two years old, living with her mother's parents 
who are refugees from the invaded districts. It was too 
overpowering, the hopelessness, the tragedy of it all. 
I talked a long while with him and then got his little 
girl's address to send her chocolate. It was heart- 
breaking, the pleasure that little friendliness gave the 
man, and I have just today received a sweet letter from 
him, thanking me for my" sympathie." Another Poilu 
90 



brought me two hairpin receptacles he had made from 
old shells — " Souvenir pour les bonnes Americaines." 
His wife and two little twin sons, whom he has never 
seen, are with the Germans in the North of France. 
The children were born after the Germans invaded his 
home. This is the type of story I hear every day. 
I wrote Don about the mysterious American boy we 
had here yesterday, who claimed to be a son of Colonel 
Goethals of Panama fame, and who was so uncomfort- 
ably attentive — well, I had the most killing time with 
him. I think he is crazy. He had come right from the 
trenches to box Carpentier in Paris — so he said. You 
have never seen such a huge, husky specimen of a 
youth. He took my hand and had me punch him as hard 
as I could in the jaw and right on the nose and he never 
even felt it. We took him back to Chantilly for dinner 
and he had us all standing on his chest and stomach 
and pounding him and feeling his muscles, etc., etc. 
It was awfully amusing. I '11 certainly be interested to 
find out who that boy really is. 

Did I write you that I saw in the New York Herald 
that B. Vine and H. Crosby had arrived in Paris? I was 
wild to go in to see them, but of course that was out of 
the question. I guess we are here to stick till the 22nd 
of August, when our papers expire. But you know I 'm 
getting so attached to this work that I hate to think of 
leaving, though hospital work is really more interesting 
to me. Then I would like to be in Paris this winter, I 
think. Still one can not make plans ahead here, and 

91 



whatever is needed most will be the thing that appeals 

to me s«» se» 

The Poilus have all been promenading in the forest this 

afternoon and snoozing too, I guess, from the grassy 

condition of their backs. I should n't mind, myself, 

taking a stroll in those green aisles. 

Well, good-bye for a while. 

Lovingly, 

Doris. 

P.S. I have just been talking with two Foreign Legion 
men, one Russian and one Algerian. They are always 
crazy to show us photos of their wives or fiancees, and 
then a far-away look comes into their eyes and they 
say, "Mademoiselle, bientot finit la guerre!" (Soon 
finishes, the war!) 

P.S., No. 2. As we pulled into the station at C... this 
evening, I saw about twenty freight cars loaded with 
German prisoners. I wanted to have a good look so I 
walked down the length of the train. You have never 
seen such a picture. In the doorway of each car sat a 
huge, black, Sengalese guard, bayonet on knee, the 
most ferocious looking creature I 've ever seen ; then, 
crowded in back of this great black monkey and peep- 
ing out of the openings in the sides of the cars, all those 
German faces, with little round grey-green caps. I 
heard much excitement in back of me and, looking 
around, saw a big French peasant, quite drunk, go 
furiously up to the door of one of the cars and yell, as 
92 



he tried to grab at the prisoners, " You have killed my 
wife and my children," — " Vous avez tue ma femme et 
mes enfants." The black guard caught up his bayonet 
and gave the man a push. Every one jeered at the 
Germans and the man went on from car to car, going 
through the same performance at each one. You know 
it really made my blood curdle. There was a train 
bound for Paris on the next track and the people 
shouted, "You're going to Paris! Nix!" But their 
humor seemed to be more sarcastic than bitter. I 
understand that myself. 

Every your own loving, Do. 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
France, 
July 3rd, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

x *- ^^UST a note while I have to wait for my next 
/"N ■ J OD — interruption — 

uk M, Now I am out in the " remboursement " 
^^ ta ^r playing the Victrola for the lunching Poilus. 
d, I have just received Mother's letter of the 27th of 
May and one from Tom Wilfred, May 25th. What joy 
these letters are! 

Mother asks about my letters. I write about twice a 
week to the family, but I suppose there are delays in 
the mails, especially as we are out in the country now. 
d This morning we had a bunch of Anamite soldiers 
here, killing little fellows from one of the French 

93 



possessions. They only know about two words in French 
and so point, and sputter their queer lingo at us. They 
have a pile of money to spend, as they are so frugal; 
and, anyway, they have no use for their pay. It is so 
weird to see these hundreds of little yellow faces peer- 
ing at us across the counter from under their blue steel 
helmets. They are the men that are used as chauffeurs 
and mechanics on the huge loriots that transfer the 
French troops. 

I started this letter ages ago and can not finish it. Will 
write again later. 

Love, 

Doris. 

A Canteen in France, 
July 5th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^^■^■r^^HILE the events of yesterday, our glorious 
^r 1 1 ^^ Fourth of July, are still fresh in my mind, I 
III must write you all about everything that 
V^^^ happened. In the first place — we gave all the 
Poilus little American flags with their " repas," which 
we stuck in each piece of bread and gave the trays a 
very gay and holiday appearance. Then in addition to 
the usual cigarette which we always give them at the 
end of their meal, we handed each one a souvenir 
handkerchief with " Les Deux Drapeaux " embroidered 
in color in the corner. You can not imagine how utterly 
overjoyed they were with these " cadeaux," and I can 
94 



tell you they tried many a clever ruse to get more than 
one " hanky" out of us. So much for the Poilus s* 
Now, let me leave the common restaurant and enter 
" la salle a manger pour les Officiers." The Command- 
ants of our camp at Serveillers came, in most formal 
style, and invited the ladies of the canteen to join them 
in drinking a health to America. One of the French- 
women canteeners, foreseeing this event, had decorated 
the table gaily with hundreds of tiny American flags 
and every other bit of space was taken up with a great 
display of champagne bottles and glasses. So we drank 
to America! It was quite thrilling — those gorgeous 
officers in blue horizon breasts splashed with decora- 
tions, and we five American girls in blue aprons and 
white coifs — outside the gay hum of Poilus swarming 
past the window and overhead the buzz of French 
" spads." So much for the afternoon at Serveillers s+ 
The evening at Orry was one of the most memorable 
occasions of my life. All eleven of us canteeners and 
eleven of the French officers of the camp met at quite 
a brilliant banquet in our dear crude " Deux Drapeaux " 
dining-room. Can you picture the long table as we all 
stood around it drinking " Vive l'Amerique " — the 
women in blue and white, French officers in blue hori- 
zon, black and scarlet, and one Englishman and two 
of our own U. S. A.'s in khaki! Formal and stirring 
toasts were given, and much champagne consumed. I 
sat between a French Captain and Lieutenant and the 
latter and I quite swimmed along. Someone asked 

95 



Miss Latrobe, who sat on his other side, how she liked 
him, and she said he had a charming profile. You would 
love it the way I am getting on with my French. I carry 
on a conversation with real eclat now. But I must tell 
you the finishing touch, which occurred as the dessert 
was being served, and furnished the appropriate ending 
to our Fourth of July. Suddenly the electric lights began 
winking, twenty-two pairs of ears pricked up and 
twenty-two voices breathed " L'alert." Before long the 
defense cannon were booming away and the machine- 
guns spitting. We ran out into the night and were just 
in time to see a thrilling thing. Off in the West, and high 
up in the sky, a great fight was very slowly moving 
earthward. It was a " fusil " that the Hun flyer drops 
to light up objects below him and so enables him to 
launch his bombs to the best advantage. All about this 
great steady light many shells were bursting and 
searchlights streaming. It was awfully interesting to 
be watching it all with the French Lieutenant who 
explained many points I had been wondering about s©» 
Then we came home in the pitch dark in our little Ford 
camion, Al at the wheel and I beside her. We were n't 
allowed any lights, and as we passed through the silent 
little French villages not one glimmer was seen in any 
house. But always ahead of us shells were bursting in 
the sky. Well, it was a memorable Fourth of July after 
all, even though I thought many times of " Lochevan " 
and my darling children and I not there to play " the 
hiding game " with them. 
96 



I must tell you that an adorable French boy conies to 
see me often at the canteen. He is almost twenty, of a 
fine French family, and knows Bernard Montelegre 
who, he tells me, is of a " big French family." He is 
driving an aviation tender as his father, who is a 
Colonel in the French Army, will not let him fly. No 
wonder — he is the third of four sons, one an aviator, 
one a prisoner in Germany, and the other at the Front. 
He brought a swanky aviator to the canteen for lunch- 
eon yesterday, who also knows Montelegre and is in 
the same esquadrille. Tomorrow he is going to bring 
me a large shell for a souvenir. 

This morning the station agent presented me with a 
large piece of one of our defense shells which fell out- 
side the station last night — " eclat," it is called. That 
is the reason for our steel helmets. We put them on to 
protect us as we run to our cave which is about half a 
block down the street. 

Well, love to all, 

Doris. 

Canteen, Somewhere in France, 
July 11th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

nIST to the exciting news ! I am on night duty 
now, so sleep during the day. At about four 
o'clock this aft, I was awakened by a tapping 
on my door and there stood Mrs. Church, 
our Directrice. " Doris, wake up, there are two 

97 



wonderful aviators downstairs asking for you." Well, I 
was so surprised and sleepy that I said, " Oh! I can 
not be bothered." Mrs. C. said, " The idea." So I 
hurriedly dressed and went down. It was Bernard 
Montelegre and a stunning friend — police dog " Wiz " 
and motor waiting outside. They were so nice and my 
French flowed quite smoothly. They are coming soon 
again for dinner and M — is coming in his auto to take 
me to see their camp. You know it is intensely fasci- 
nating meeting these foreign fellows, one sees such a 
different side of life. Bernard was attired in dark blue 
uniform with scarlet stripes on breeches and black cap 
with scarlet top, gold-braided. He wore the croix de 
guerre with palm, and his friend, croix de guerre and 
Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur. I really think I can 
have an awfully nice time with Bernard for he seems a 
very sweet boy and extremely peppy. Mention was 
made of my photo which I sent him, and he put his 
hand over his heart and said, " II est toujours avec 
moi." (It is always with me.) My! what fun s^ $* 
Night duty is wonderful. We, Larrabee and I, go on at 
6 P. M., work until midnight, then rest till 5 A. M., and 
on again till 7.45, when we are relieved by the day 
force. Imagine the situation. Our canteen is a camp for 
permissionaires, built along a railroad track. At about 
8 P. M. we hear the whistle of an approaching train, 
and a few minutes later its contents of many hundreds 
of Poilus are pouring into camp. Most of them have 
not eaten all day, and they almost fall over each other 
98 



to get the hot coffee, chocolate and dinners which we 
always have ready for them. At about 10 P. M. the 
electric lights go out and from then on we work by 
candle and lamp light. It is a wonderful picture with the 
dim light from the kitchen thrown on all those eager 
faces across the counter — and much smiles and com- 
pliments for " les gentiles demoiselles Americanes." 
Then if the crowd ever quiets down a bit, I hear the 
distant booming of cannon and look out at the great 
splashes of light that constantly flare up in the West. 
Most every night the Boches fly over us on their way 
to Paris, and then candles and lamps are hastily 
extinguished and the men bid us a patient " bon soir." 
C After I am supposed to be resting, I go out and peep 
at the Poilus in their long " salle a manger." They have 
candles out there, and some sit about the tables all 
night talking and writing, while others sleep on the 
benches. All ages — many fresh, untroubled young 
faces, and many bearded and worn — French, Sengalese, 
Algerians, Anamites, and so on in uniforms of faded 
bleu, khaki of the Foreign Legion, dark blue of the 
Chausseurs. I hear their voices like the low rumbling 
of thunder all night long. 

The other day a sweet boy from Southern India asked 
me if he could write me. He is as handsome as can be, 
black, black face and white, white teeth, and is refined 
and well-educated. He told me all about hunting tigers 
and elephants and other interesting things. 
Last night, a fine, big, tall boy asked if he could n't 

99 



help me in the " Gout de Cafe," which is the little stall 
where we sell drinks. He worked like a nailer, and I 
had quite a restful time. He had been educated in 
Germany and England and was a peach. So you see 
every day I meet splendid fellows and always have such 
awfully good times. 

I have just received word from the Red Cross that they 
are going to send me two Victrolas. I offered to buy 
two, one for the canteen and one for the hospital camp 
here, but the Red Cross assured me they had a depart- 
ment which took care of just such things, so I am 
tickled to death. 

Sometimes I go for days without really realizing that 
there is a war going on, for the Poilus, on their way 
back to the trenches, hate to talk about it, and we try 
to cheer them up and get their minds on other things. 
As a rule the French Poilu is an exceedingly cheery 
fellow, but often like a flash I 11 see a haggard face 
out across the counter, with maybe a blesse ribbon on 
his breast, or on the black band around his left arm, 
one, two or three stripes of red, white and blue ribbon, 
one stripe for each brother killed in the war. Or else, 
as often happens, two fellows will come up to me and 
one will say, " brother." Then I will hear how these two 
brothers have not seen each other for two or three 
years — just by luck have met for a few minutes in 
camp and they will take two bowls of coffee, and 
tapping them together, say "a la Victoire " or more 
often, "Au fin de la guerre," (" To the finish of the 
100 



war.") d Well, I must go to bed. It is 10.30 A. M. and 
I can sleep till 4.30 this afternoon. 

Mother, I just received your letter dated June 20th 
and love it. You can't imagine how I love reading about 
" Lochevan " and all you dear people doing the same 
old, cozy, happy things. Tell Mrs. Mills her letter of 
June 18th was a joy. 

Ever love, 

Doris. 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
July 15th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

DOT many miles from the Front and with 
hundreds of Poilus passing through our 
camp on their way to the trenches, still we 
are as gay and merry as one could possibly 
imagine. Yesterday was the Frenchman's great day — 
" le quatorze Juillet " (14th of July) the fete which cor- 
responds to our Fourth of July. All of the Poilus have 
had a goodly amount of " Pinard " (wine) and they 
shouted and laughed and complimented to a tremen- 
dous extent. We gave our extra little American and 
French flags, picture post-cards and souvenir handker- 
chiefs, and served fruit and pudding with the " repas." 
The men were in the seventh heaven. 
In the evening, the officers of the camp returned our 
invitation of the Fourth and we all dined with them at 
their mess. It was great! Strange to say I was again 

101 



seated next to Lieutenant Boisson, my partner of the 
last dinner, and we had quite a gay time. When the 
champagne began to circulate, toasts and song burst 
forth, and it gave me a thrill when we drank to " Les 
deux Soeurs Republiques — la France et l'Amerique." 
Several of the officers had good voices and they sang 
some French songs, and then we all stood and sang the 
" Star Spangled Banner " and " Marseillaise." Now 
please don't die of mortification when I tell you what a 
mess I made of myself. For some reason, they all got 
an idea that I could sing and so nagged me that finally, 
in sheer desperation and amidst clapping and cheering, 
I arose to render some simple melody. I chose for the 
occasion " There Are Eyes of Blue " — why, I do not 
know, but I got only as far as the first ten words and 
absolutely choked. It was too funny to be tragic. I 
dropped back into my chair and hid my face which was 
suffused with blushes. It was quite awful, but no one 
seemed to mind, and I came out of it pretty well after 
all, for I plucked up my courage, and during the rest of 
the evening joined in songs we all knew. 
Lieut. Boisson was quite over- attentive and decorated 
me with his croix de guerre with palm and two stars, 
and with a citation written on the back of my place 
card. Here it is : 

" Order No. 1. The 14th of July. 

Is cited by the order of the Army of Two Flags 

Miss Doris Kellog 

Canteener of the first class 

102 



For devotion and courage without equal, 
having dispensed without thought of self, for 
the French Poilus, pouring many good cups of 
' jus ' and agreeable speeches." 
How well your Frenchman understands the gentle art 
of flattery! 

At midnight the party broke up, and I had to drive one 
truck-load of women to the canteen, while Al drove 
another. It was too exciting, running along the black 
roads with a strange motor. One of the chauffeurs was 
in Paris and the other drunk. 

Larrabee and I were on night duty, and when every- 
thing quieted down, we heard the heaviest booming 
of the cannon since I 've been here. Last night finished 
my shift for the week, and I am really sorry it is over. 
It has been a marvelous experience, those dim, candle- 
lighted hours. 

But I have left for the last the experience that was 
much the most eventful of yesterday. Al, Mrs. Church 
and I went over to the camp hospital with supplies 
which we had gotten for them from the Red Cross and 
with tobacco for the blesses. I can not possibly over- 
estimate the value of the newspaper " Tobacco Funds " 
after I saw the joy they sowed amongst those poor 
fellows. Actually, the men almost went crazy — and 
they were as pleased as anything over the enclosed 
blank postal card with the name of the donor of each 
tobacco kit. One Poilu had even begun his note of 
thanks before I left. But there was a terribly tragic side 

103 



to the affair as well, for as I got toward the end of the 
long tent ward the nurse came up and said, " No 
further, please, the rest are Boches." Well, I could 
hardly bear it, but I knew that she was right and that 
it would have been weak to let my pity carry me away, 
and anyway the Frenchmen will share their cigarettes 
with the Fritzies — they always do. Before I left, the 
whole ward were laughing, Germans and all, because 
I said some Poilu slang expressions that I 've learned 
at the canteen, such as " ta bouche, cherie " (your 
mouth, dear — or, as we would say, Shut up) — " tu 
parle, Charles " (now you 're saying something, 
Charles) and so on. Those poor fellows really went 
into gales of laughter. 

Just before I left the ward the stretcher-bearers came 
up to the vacant cot I was standing beside and lifted 
onto it a poor unconscious youngster. One leg had just 
been amputated and he was the color of death. The 
nurse asked me to leave a tobacco kit for him, " if he 
should wake, if — " 

Now if anyone tries to tell you that girls and women, 
but really preferably young girls, are not needed over 
here, please just politely contradict them. There is 
untold work for happy, strong women in France, and 
anyone who knows the situation over here will tell you 
so. Why, because we can't get enough Americans at our 
canteen we have had to take older French women, 
which really almost spoils the whole spirit and idea of 
the thing. As I told you in one of my other letters, 
104 



Major Olds told us that before the Summer was up 
there would be three jobs for every American woman 
in France. 

It is a fresh, clear day, with white billowy clouds. The 
sky is full of great buzzing aeroplanes, some are flying 
very low and others keep appearing from out the clouds 
and then are lost in them again. They said the Germans 
came over Chantilly at 5.30 this morning, but I was at 
the canteen then, filling Poilus with chocolate and 
cafe, and so missed out on the excitement. 
For Mother's and Father's benefit, I must tell you that 
I have never been so well and strong before, and some 
of our older canteeners often look at me and say, 
" You are extremely well and strong, are you not, Miss 
Kellogg? Do you ever feel tired? " 

Well, I must close now, am going to Creil in our camion. 
That town is as near the Front as they will let us go. 
We always see all sorts of thrilling things over there. 

Love to everyone, 

Dodie. 

Canteen, 
July 17th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

Y job is " caissaire " this week, which means 

that I sit firmly ensconced in a little ticket 

stall bleeding the Poilus, fifteen cents each, 

for their "repas." Yesterday we had over one 

thousand meals and that was some busy time. I had an 

105 




awful fright this noon. A Poilu, crazed with drink, came 
up to the window and said I owed him money. He shook 
his fist at me, and then muttered about a " fusil " and 
was horrible. If it had n't been for the hundreds of sane 
men about I would have died — as it was, I got perfectly 
white and felt sort of nauseated. He stayed there in 
front of me for ages, he seemed sort of foaming at the 
mouth, and no one dared touch him. Finally I turned 
my back and sold tickets out of the door, and after a 
while someone succeeded in getting him away, and he 
was evidently locked up. That was just one of the varied 
experiences a canteener has. 

By the time you get this letter we shall know just how 
this fifth great German offensive has come out. We all 
knew something vital was occurring, for the movement 
of troops has been tremendous the past few days, and 
the last two nights and early mornings the boom of 
cannon has been incessant. 

Last night we had the most exciting time. Hundreds of 
camions full of Poilus went through Chantilly. They 
began just as we finished dinner at about 8.45, and we 
had the brilliant idea of throwing cigarettes to them as 
they passed. I 've never heard such shouting and yelling 
in my life, and finally the whole line stopped and the 
men jumped out. They fairly overwhelmed us, grabbing 
and teasing, and one was so excited he snatched a 
package right out of my hand. After a while a beautiful 
golden moon came up, and still in that lovely light the 
trucks rumbled by, full of tired, dust-covered soldiers. 
106 



Sometimes we hear them passing for hours at a time 
during the night, and occasionally a gay load will go 
singing by. 

As I sit here in my little coop, I can see the trains go 
past loaded with all sorts of guns, horses, kitchen 
wagons, etc. How I adore the gaiety of the Frenchmen. 
Almost every cannon's mouth and cooking stove's 
chimney is stuffed with wild flowers, and each Poilu 
has a rose sticking in his cap. They are truly gay 
cavaliers s* £•» 

Tomorrow I am going to Paris. Great excitement ! 
We 've been out here over six weeks, and so I felt 
justified in asking for a day off. My principal event of 
the day will be a shampoo, which is the height of 
luxury to me now. We fairly eat and drink dust here in 
the canteen. 

So I shall close now and write more when I come back 
from town tomorrow. 

Cantine des Deax Drapeaux, 
July 19th, 1918. 
One throbbing day in Paris and now back again in my 
little " guitchet " selling repas tickets. 
Paris was wonderful I simply blew myself, at least as 
far as " cochers " are concerned, and rolled about all 
day in their cozy ramshackle Victorias. Paris seemed 
full of American soldiers — I had a hectic time staring 
at each one in turn, trying to spot some familiar face, 
but no such luck. I lunched with Major and Mrs. 
Olds in their attractive apartment, did much necessary 

107 



shopping, and then crowned my day by a visit to the 
Red Cross Hospital at Neuilly. I found two of my old 
boys still there, and we were so happy to see each 
other. Tommy, the English boy, who used to scream so 
when we even touched him, was so fat and well I hardly 
knew him. Then I wended my way to the officers' 
pavilion to see Lieut. Ward, the big Texan I loved so. 
When I looked through the doorway at the man lying 
opposite me I did n't, at first, recognize him ; then that 
fine, white-teethed smile broke out and we had a 
great reunion. He is too pathetic, so terribly thin and 
pale. The doctor promises him at least four more weeks 
on his back and then a stiff knee for life. He told me 
the thrilling sequel to his story of the night raid on the 
German trench in which he was wounded. It seems 
that sixteen of our boys with Lieut. Ward got into a 
nest of seventy Boches. Our men killed and wounded 
forty-three of the enemy and got back to our lines with 
one killed, one wounded, and the prisoner Lieut. Ward 
captured. On the way back, they were caught between 
our own and the German barrage and had to pass 
through that hail of shrapnel. They have been cited in 
regimental orders, but I think Ward should be deco- 
rated. I assure you the French are awarded for much 
less than that. Well, it was a great day, but I tell you 
I was glad to get back to Chantilly again and all the 
stirring things that are always happening here. 
Two days ago the British began pouring down upon us 
like a cloud burst and they have been marching through 
108 



town by hundreds and hundreds. We can see all this 
from the front windows of our house which is on the 
quaint main street. " Last night in the pale moonlight " 
a long file of bare-kneed " kilties " went whistling by. 
It was great and made me all goose-fleshy. 
It is so interesting to note the difference between the 
British and the French marching soldiers. The Tommies 
march along in perfect step, erect and dignified, and it 
is all we can do to get a wave or hello out of them — they 
are terribly impressive ; the only air of gaiety is fur- 
nished by their fife and drum corps, which are always 
with the troops, and the men's whistling. In contrast, 
picture the armies of France. They come shuffling 
along, a great waving line of blue, bent under their 
heavy packs with no music or singing — there is some- 
thing awfully sinister and awe-inspiring about it. But 
wait and see the greatest contrast of all — the instant 
the Frenchies catch sight of us girls, there arises a 
great shouting and gesticulating of arms, hands pressed 
over hearts and kisses blown and "Ah! regardez, les 
jolies mademoiselles, Venez avec nous, gentile miss," 
etc., etc. (Oh! look, the pretty ladies. Come with us, 
gentle miss.) Now they are the gayest fellows in the 
world $* s®» 

How I am dying to see our own glorious Sammies come 
singing along. The French adore our boys and you 
really can not over-estimate the invigorating influence 
their wonderful " esprit " has had over here. 
Last night the Huns flew over us on their way to Paris 

109 



and the Creil defense guns shook our house. Al and I 
went down to the cave like the sensible girls we are. 
My, but it was a brilliant night, clear moon and many 
stars, and all about " eclat " bursting in the sky. You 
have no idea of the different feeling in the atmosphere 
now, as compared with that during the last offensive. 
Then, everyone was grim and apprehensive ; but now, 
the morale has shot up like a rocket and we all expect 
fine things to come. There is a suppressed excitement 
like electricity in the air. 

It is late at night, but before I go to bed I must tell you 
the things that have happened today. As we drove into 
Chantilly this evening in our camion, we saw lined up 
in front of the station masses and masses of German 
prisoners. We were ready to scream with joy. There 
were fifteen hundred of them, and all taken by our boys 
at Soissons today. It is too wonderful ! I stood so near 
them as they marched past that they bumped into me 
time after time. I must tell you that those Huns were 
the most encouraging sight I 've seen since I 've seen 
in France. No exaggeration, they are a terribly mangy- 
looking crowd — poor uniforms to begin with, pieced 
and worn, and then they are very young and have a 
decidedly under-nourished look, thin and very poor 
color. There were two captains and many lieutenants ; 
and quite a bunch of them were wounded. But tonight 
was the most unforgetable experience of all. The 
wounded are pouring in here by scores and we heard 
that they needed food over at the huge tent evacuation 
110 



hospital and that there were many Americans there. 
So after dinner we got our camion, loaded it with a 
crate of tobacco, hot chocolate, bread and eggs, and 
Al ran us over. I can not begin to express the condition 
of things in those tents. They are swamped with 
wounded and without hope of doing anything for the 
men except what is utterly essential. There, lying about 
in the grass, were the wounded Germans, blood-caked 
and exhausted ; some of the worst cases were given a 
tent and I watched them going in, helping each other 
as well as they could. One boy crawling and dragging 
one leg — it was too pitiful and I had to give him an 
encouraging smile. He appreciated that and smiled 
back so gratefully. We gave some cigarettes to one old 
Red Cross Fritzie who had given first aid to twelve of 
our wounded boys on the battlefield. It was great, how 
anxious all our boys were to tell us about him, so glad 
to be able to think anything nice of a German. 
Then we took off our coats and pitched in. I gave water 
to boys who were writhing in pain, fed men who had 
not eaten for two and three days, and tried my best to 
make the poor devils a little bit comfortable on their 
stretchers that will probably be their beds for a day or 
so more. I went from gaunt, sunken-eyed Frenchmen 
to our own open-faced Americans. The French with 
their exquisite appreciation thanked me so beautifully 
and our boys smiled and said, " She 's an American 
all right." But most of them could not rally enough to 
even think, and after giving them some water we just 

111 



let them sleep. The most heartrending time of all is 
when you have to refuse a boy a drink on account of the 
location of his wound, for fear of starting a hemorrhage, 
it makes your heart ache as though it were being torn 
out. Then it got dark, and in the dimly lighted tents 
those long rows of suffering soldiers were pretty awful. 
As we came out to the auto, the ambulances were still 
piling in, and the full moon gave enough light to help 
along the work of unloading. 

One more thing before I go to sleep. They say we are 
two and a half miles from Soissons and that it must fall. 
Can you imagine with what intense feeling I shall wake 
up tomorrow and run for the paper, after seeing and 
knowing what our glorious Allies have suffered to get 
this far? As one wounded Sammy from Utah said to 
me tonight, " We 've just got to get Soissons, that 's 
all." So good night. 

Doris. 
P.S. Got Ruth Kellogg's, Ruth Robb's, and Betty 
Reynolds' wonderful letters. 

" The White House " 

XCAN not fool myself into thinking that I 'm 
not tired tonight. I 've come up to my room 
alone with a plate full of food and am having 
a restful, solitary dinner. 
Worked at canteen all day till 3.30 this afternoon, then 
drove the camion full of supplies back here to Chantilly 
and spent the afternoon giving chocolate, eggs and 
112 



iced tea to the wounded at the tent hospital. It is a 
touching sight, I can tell you, to see our boys in their 
khaki uniforms all torn and bloody and the fellows 
dirty and unshaven. But they are the best old sports 
and as plucky as fighting cocks. Found one boy from 
North Tonawanda, who lived next door to Hamilton 
Large, but forgot to ask his name. One of the French 
nurses asked me to give her a hand with one huge 
fellow and whispered, " He 's a Boche." He was as 
heavy as lead and we had quite a tussle getting an 
extra blanket roll under his back to make him more 
comfortable. It won't be long before he " Goes West," 
I guess, as he has a big piece of French shell in his 
chest, and is already the color of death. 
Just to show you the mixture of races in that hospital ; 
there lay a frank, yellow-haired, young Yankee, with a 
Boche on one side of him, on the other an immense, 
coal black African with tattooed face and grotesquely 
cut hair. Across the ward was an Arab, still with his 
turban wound about his head — then an Algerian, upon 
whom I spotted restless " totos " — and sprinkled all 
up and down the ward our fine " camarades," the Poilus 
of France. And each one got his sweet chocolate and 
tea, thanks to the Red Cross. Imagine! They say that 
fifteen hundred ambulances went past our house down 
the main street of Chantilly during the night. 
We have been asked by the Red Cross to open a canteen 
on the race-track there beside the hospital, where the 
boys can get chocolate, tobacco, lemonade, etc. Won't 

113 



it be great ! Oh, if I could only tell you the tremendous - 
ness of being able to be over here and to devote all the 
strength and devotion in your soul and body toward 
helping our glorious brothers win this war ! What an 
opportunity ! 

It is cloudy, so the Boche will probably stay on their 
own side of the fence tonight. I could have scratched 
them last night when I had to haul myself out of bed at 
about 1.30 A. M. and go shivering down to the cave. 
d, I asked Montelegre and his friend to dinner tonight, 
but they have just telegraphed that the letter only 
arrived today, and of course it was too late to accept. 
C Well, dear every one, Al seems to think that I do 
nothing but write the family. Do you get bored with 
such a flourishing correspondence? 

Love to all, 

Doris. 
P.S. For Tot's benefit, or any one else's whose heart 
is over here in France, please let me tell you this — if 
all my letters seem to paint tragic things, then it is 
only because they are the most striking features to me, 
who am so new at the game. Some day I am going to 
paint the happy, hopeful side of the picture, just as 
Dr. Holmes does in his Thanksgiving sermons. For 
really, inside the cloud of dirt and hurting, there is a 
silver lining. The boys are soon in some clean white 
hospital in the South, and wounds do heal very quickly. 
They are surrounded with love and sympathy most of 
the time, for the whole heart of France has been given 
114 




to us. And the more than silver, the platinum lining of 
the cloud of war is beginning to break through all along 
the horizon. C[ Will Soissons fall? We must take it soon. 
Good night, Doris. 

Chantilly, 
July 25th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

OU know it 's the saddest thing in the world. 
Every morning now, some of us take time 
off to go to the funerals of our boys who die 
in the hospitals. We follow the hearses a 
long way through the forest road to a new cemetery 
that has been cleared this last week. You can imagine 
the impressiveness of it all, so simple, with no unneces- 
sary flourishes. I tell you, since I 've seen our Star 
Spangled Banner draping those coffins the flag has had 
a new meaning for me. 

We have arranged a sort of rolling canteen, which con- 
sists of taking hot chocolate, fruit, cigarettes, etc. to the 
different hospitals in our little Ford camion. The boys 
are wild with joy to see us coming, and we have been 
able to relieve many a hungry and thirsty man this 
way. Last night eight huge camions arrived straight 
from the Front full of " legere blesses " (light wounded) 
and you can not imagine what that piping hot chocolate 
meant to them. 

What do you know about the nerve of a filthy Boche 
who appeared over Chantilly yesterday at 10 o'clock in 
the morning? I was at the tent hospital when I heard 

115 



our defense barrage, and ran out to see a great flying 
monster up in the sky, right over my head. No doubt it 
was a photographing machine, getting the position of 
the hospital in order to bomb it on some clear moon- 
light night. When I caught sight of one of the German 
blesses looking up and trying to hide a smile with his 
hand, I was more enraged than I 've ever been in my 
life. I think for the first time I really felt a spasm of 
hate. My one hope was that our bursting shells would 
"get him" and bring the beast down in flames. After an 
experience like that, you know you begin to feel as the 
French nurses do who have to grit their teeth when 
they are waiting on the Boche. 

Yesterday I wrote letters for our boys who could n't 
manage it themselves. I had the funniest time trying 
to get them to tell me what to say. They 'd say, " Well, 
you just go ahead and write just like you was writim 
home." So I 'd exercise my imagination a bit, and then 
when I got to the end I 'd say, " Now, how shall I end 
it ! " No suggestions forthcoming. "Well, shall I say 
with love ! ", I asked one big fellow to whose mother and 
father I was writing. He simply "died" at that and, 
stretching in an embarrassed way, said, " This ain't no 
love letter. No, just say, 'I remain your son, Jeremiah.' " 
€1 Having learned a lesson in correspondence from the 
above-mentioned Jeremiah, I remain your daughter, 

Doris. 
P.S. All my letters to the family are written in great 
haste. Please excuse utterly horrible writing. 
116 



Cantine, 
July 26th, 1918. 
Dearest Father and Mother : 

I HAVE just received your two letters written 
on July 1st and 5th. They are too wonderful 
and so welcome. You know I almost died 
laughing at the impression the new foreman 
Prichard has made on your minds. You have mentioned 
him in idealizing terms in every letter since last April. 
I 'm terribly glad he is such a success. First and fore- 
most, let me thank you for Junior's address. I was 
wild not having it, because I might have missed a 
chance of seeing him some time. One can never tell. 
And so many Americans go through Orry. Yesterday, 
nine long train-loads of Sammies passed the canteen, 
and we spent most of our day waving to them and 
yelling " hello " to the neglect of the Poilus. 

July 28th, 1918. 
Yesterday was a thrilling day. We served eight hundred 
and fifty Poilus at luncheon, which kept us hopping, 
and then just as things were beginning to quiet down, 
a message came from the next town that there was a 
wounded American there and for us to send for him to 
take him to the hospital. So I was detailed to drive the 
Ford camion and we started out. It was really exciting, 
the urge of the thing, and all in a wild, windy, rainstorm. 
But, to cut a long story short, upon arriving at S — , we 
found another auto had carried off the blesse and we 

117 



were not needed. The real excitement came when on 
our return we passed through two towns where our 
boys are billeted. They were the first well Sammies I 
have seen at close range, and I assure you that I saw 
those fellows — close, closer, closest. We stopped the 
car and in no time were surrounded with khaki. Such 
a babbling conversation! Each one wanted to talk and 
to tell me about his war. They said I was the first 
American girl they 'd talked to in months. " You don't 
know what it does for a fellow to be able to talk to a 
real American girl," so many of them said. One big 
fellow insisted on buying me six packages of cookies 
at the Y. M. G. A. canteen, and when I had been 
refusing to take them for several minutes, he said, 
" You would n't refuse these, Miss, if you knew what 
State of the Union I came from. I 'm from ' Vaginia.' " 
d Well, after that trip I drove the Ford on some more 
errands in the wonderful storm and then came home 
to Chantilly. 

We had Clay Ferguson here for dinner, the aviator 
from Amsterdam. He is with the " Storks," which 
esquadrille Guynemeyer belonged to, and which boasts 
Fouck now, the two crack flyers of France. He says he 
will bring Fouck to dinner some time. The trouble with 
Clay is that he won't tell us the thrilling tales he could, 
because he says the Americans have the reputation of 
bragging and that they are trying to live that down. 
I know he has gotten several Huns himself and that 
he was a prisoner in Germany for three days and then 
118 



escaped, but it is too aggravating to try to draw him out. 
C Just came back from the hospital. Found a Polish- 
American from Buffalo, and we shook hands and had 
a nice chat about Humboldt Park and Fillmore Avenue 
and Walbridge's east side store. Then I took all the 
roses I could buy in Chantilly and gave one to each 
man. No one can imagine how the Frenchmen adore 
flowers till you see them, in horrible pain, bury their 
faces in a rose and smile. I have a special friend, an 
Arab, only twenty-three, and very ill. He has just had 
his leg amputated. When I come up to the cot he 
stretches out his hand takes mine, and then puts his 
to his lips and kisses it. And the same when I leave. 
He was so horribly ill before they took off his leg, and 
used to cry for water and keep tapping his empty cup 
on the board beside his bed, and then when we couldn't 
give him anything for fear of hemorrhage, he would 
wail and pray to Allah. But amputations heal so rapidly 
and he is so much better now, though so, so sad. 
Yesterday I said, " I am so sorry for you." His chin 
trembled and tears came to his eyes, but he smiled 
and said, " C'est la guerre, mademoiselle, we must all 
suffer." so £<» 

If I could only convey to you the tremendous enthusiasm 
of the French for our boys — nurses, poilus, aviateurs, 
generals, etc., etc. can not speak in too glowing terms 
of our Yanks fighting — " C'est comme nous dans 
1914," (like us in 1914). 

I came home on the train with a French aviateur who 

119 



had just come down from the battle of Soissons. When 
he saw my U. S., he sat on the edge of his seat and 
began simply raving over the Amex' work there — 
" Mais ils sont superb! " he said, and pinching a kiss 
from his lips, blew it in the air. It tickles our boys to 
death to hear those things, and they ask us, knowing 
perfectly well what we will answer, "Say now nurse, 
tell us just what these French people think of us wild 
Americans ! " and then they will smile inwardly for a 
long time after we 've told some of the praises we 've 
heard for them. 

Well, folks, I must close and go on my afternoon shift. 
I wrote a letter to Junior and am so anxious to know 
where he is. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

" The White House " 

July 30th, 1918. 
Dear Everyone : 

X REALLY should not be writing at this hour 
of night, 10 P. M., as I have to get up at six 
tomorrow morning (and I do try to take 
good care of myself) ; but I have just 
received the juiciest bunch of letters from you home 
folks, Aunt Annie, Gert and Andrew, How and Cyrena, 
and Ruth, and I am tingling with home news and 
affection. I repeat again and again that your letters 
120 



are joys. Was n't it simply great of Aunt Annie to 
write me? 

Next day. 
My, but it was interesting yesterday here in Chantilly, 
long lines of squirming, straining tanks passed through 
town at different intervals all day. They were coming 
from the Front where they have been fighting with our 
Marines at C — and were the raciest looking things in 
the world, covered with mud and dust and so cleverly 
camouflaged and with wicked looking guns sticking 
out of their turrets. I think I have had a slight change 
of heart since yesterday, and from now on these 
marvelous tankers are my matinee idols. They are 
really snappier than the aviators, though one really 
should not compare them, they are so different. The 
ace is always perfectly " soigner " (well-groomed), and 
goodness knows attractive enough, but your tanker is 
a dashing, devil-may-care fellow, in black baret (tarn), 
black leather coat and a long knife stuck through his 
belt. I think of them as pirates of the land, in their 
rolling, heaving tanks. We handed each fellow a pack- 
age of cigarettes as he passed. It was like feeding 
animals ; a hand would be thrust out of the small open- 
ing in the front of the tank where the driver sits, grab 
the smokes, and then be drawn quickly in again. In 
front of each machine — (Oh, you '11 have to excuse me 
a minute, family, there is a plane flying right over my 
head, and the pilot is looking down. I can see him as 

121 



plainly as anything, he is so low, so I shall hang out of 
the window and wave my bath-towel at him. He has 
gone on the other side of town now, so I can continue 
my letter.)Then in front of each machine stalked the 
gunner, too snappy for anything, with knife in belt, 
and a long, easy stride. Really it was a great sight. 
C Well, I have just had an exceedingly satisfactory 
afternoon. As soon as I got back from the canteen I put 
on white shoes and stockings, clean blue apron and 
white collar and coif, and went over to the hospital. 
Last night I had delivered the graphaphone that I got 
from the Red Cross for them, and so I wanted to make 
a sort of fete of the presentation. We had it out on the 
grass in the midst of the blesses, who were fortunate 
enough to be able to get outside, and I can tell you all 
those stretchers bore pretty smiling burdens today. 
The music sounded so sweet there in the sunshine. I 
took enough cigarettes for each man in the whole 
hospital to have two, and gave every one a small 
American and French flag. You really can not imagine 
how utterly pleased those great babies were, and some 
said so sweetly " Vive l'Amerique " One said, "Ah, 
the two sister Republics, the great America and her 
little sister, France." But what do you think I did? 
" Malheur de malheurs ! " — I handed one horribly 
banged up fellow two cigarettes and two flags, and no 
sooner had done so than there were great gleeful 
exclamations from the Frenchmen all about — "Aha! 
Mademoiselle, il est Boche, fixes les drapeaux au-dessu 
122 



sa lit," (he is a Boche. Fasten the flags over his bed.) 
I was really awfully sorry about it and smiled apologetic- 
ally when he handed the flags back to me in a dignified 
manner, but he kept the cigarettes all right. Now I 
know all the men in the hospital, and it is the happiest 
thing in the world to see nearly all of them looking 
better each day. As I passed one of the operating 
rooms I saw much blood streaming from the table and 
discovered it came from a leg which had just had the 
foot amputated. I told one darling little boy from 
Springfield, Mass., today he must try to feel happier so 
that he would get well more quickly. He was shot in 
the lung and is having a pretty tough time — is only 
nineteen. So as I was leaving I said, " Now tell me if 
there is anything that I can do for you or bring you that 
will cheer you up and make you feel better. Is there 
anything that you would like? " Then with a grave little 
smile, " I 'd like some chewing-gum, please." Here 's 
hoping I can get to Paris for it tomorrow. I bought 
some Algerian dates for my Arab. 

This is my week in the Gout, and ever time a girl's 
shift happens to be there she has killing experiences, 
because the Poilus hang around and that is the time 
when they get in their heavy wooing. Yesterday a shy 
swain of about thirty kept coming back to the counter 
for coffee and chocolate, and finally when he got a 
chance he looked over at me and said, " Mademoiselle, 
I am a garcon (waiter)." " Oh, you are," said I, " waiter 
in a hotel? " " Non, I am a garcon." " Yes, I under- 

123 



stand, waiter in a hotel or restaurant? " " But no, 
mademoiselle, you do not understand, lama garcon — 
that is to say, not married. I have not had good luck." 
At that I remembered some errand out in the other 
room — I was too hot for another proposal that day so 
Our chauffeur, Potter, a killing, outspoken American 
boy, gets so tired of the Frenchmen's habits that he 
said in the most disgusted voice, " These darned 
Frenchmen would flirt with the Virgin Mary if they 
saw her in the yard." That last is only for those who 
are shock proof. 

The American boys in Chantilly have discovered us 
and now we always have a circle of them standing about 
in front of the " White House," all talking their heads 
off. That seems to be what they want to do, just to 
speak English, and they can hardly resist all talking at 
once. Then they know that American tobacco comes 
out of this green front door — they seem to scent it and 
follow the trail here. Nice old boys — men are so child- 
ish and helpless in many ways. I have seen such a lot 
of them over here and grown so fond of them and felt 
that I know them so well that I think " apres la guerre " 
I shall be able to travel all over the world and find a 
friend in every village — of les Allies. 
How brilliantly goes the war now ! " Ca va tres bien 
aujourd'hui ! " we can say to the Poilus every morning 
when we see the papers. Up beyond F. en T. our Franco- 
Americans are pushing back the Huns gloriously. 
Well, dear every one, keep up the good work of writing 
124 



me. You can feel it is a bit of war work if you will, 
please. You don't know how happy it makes me feel 
that you 're glad I 'm over here. 

Ever love, 

Dodie. 

Cantine , 
August 2d, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

I CAN hardly contain my jubilant spirit this 
morning. " Soissons is retaken! " Imagine 
the excitement at the station this morning. 
Q I took the early train from Chantilly and 
found all my prospective fellow voyagers buzzing about 
at a great rate with newspapers fluttering in their hands. 
I must admit that the Yankees seemed the most 
thrilled and the Frenchmen smiled at us in a calm, 
interested way ; but you see we are so newly in it and 
they so tired after four years. Today is the first day of 
the fifth year of the war. " un peu trop long " (a little 
too long) the French say. So this victory comes at quite 
a crucial time. " Soon in Berlin, Mademoiselle " the 
Poilus say to me this morning as I serve them their 
chocolate and coffee. 

At last I have seen my godson, Joseph Duyck. He came 
here to visit me at the canteen the other day, and I was 
simply delighted with him. He is just twenty, already 
a sergeant, and has the " croix de guerre " with two 
stars. He looks exactly as Nelson Mann will in a few 

125 



more years. All the canteen were crazy about him, and 
I could n't help crowing over my good luck in godsons. 
Both Duyck and Montelegre are coming to see me next 
week on their return to the Front. I have a few American 
magazines I am sending Duyck. He wants them more 
than anything else ; says his one pleasure at the Front 
is to read or to write letters. Can you mail me a bunch 
of periodicals, Mother, under separate cover, of course, 
as otherwise they would be too heavy to come by post? 
They like magazines that have interesting and amusing 
illustrations s* £» 

You know I think this inundation of Americans into 
France is going to do wonderful things in the way of 
liberating the French women. Already the French girls 
are beginning to revolt against the confining lives they 
have to lead, and look with envy at the freedom of us 
American girls. And the French men are waking up as 
well. One boy said to me, after telling me about the 
French girls never being allowed to even walk alone 
on the streets with a man — " You know it seems as 
though they could not trust us men." Several of the 
girls I know in Paris have already cut loose and are 
defying Parisian convention. One French boy said to 
me, " Oh! you American girls are wonderful, you can 
go anywhere. I so tease my cousins by telling them that 
while they sit at home, you American girls come up to 
help us fight, and you are the first ones to give us a 
smile when we come out of the trenches." But on the 
other hand, glorious work has been done by many 
126 



devoted French women since the beginning of the war, 
particularly in the hospitals. When a French woman 
undertakes a thing, she is as tireless as the Poilu. 

August 4th, 1918. 
We are in a gale of joy. Our spirits are mounting so 
high that I think they will raise the roof of the canteen. 
Fifty French villages retaken yesterday It is too glor- 
ious ! All our servants from the " Pays envahii " 
(invaded country) begin to talk of returning to their 
homes, and one woman who lives quite up in the North, 
said, " Perhaps soon I may go back to my country 
again." Al is so thrilled that she is almost wild. The 
Red Cross is already planning about the re-opening of 
our canteen at Fismes, which has no doubt been looted 
by the Germans during their occupation, if not utterly 
destroyed s& $& 

Yesterday I visited two hospitals and took the men 
oranges and cigarettes. I said to one pale-faced Poilu 
who had just been brought in, " Is n't the war going 
beautifully? " and he said, " Yes, but not without 
much suffering." One fellow had a bright new "medaille 
militaire " over his bed, which is about the highest 
honor a Poilu can have, and I admired it and con- 
gratulated him, but he smiled sadly and said he would 
rather have his eye back than that. 
I found a boy from Buffalo in one of the hospitals, 
A. A. Fox, an ambulance driver, and we had a nice 
chat about the Pierce Arrow Plant and Shea's Theater 

127 



and other things we had in common. He knew just 
where I lived, and really I almost felt he belonged to 
me after I left him. I gave him two nice big cakes of 
sweet chocolate. You know every time I enter a hospital 
or see wounded anywhere, I have a dread of suddenly 
looking into some familiar face. But if any of my friends 
are wounded over here, I hope I may be near to do the 
little things for them that make their suffering a bit 
easier to bear. 

This morning I came down to the canteen very early 
with Al and our Directrice as it is Sunday, and mass is 
always said for the servants and Poilus in camp. Out 
in the " refectoire " a rough kitchen table had been set 
with a clean, white, table-cloth, lighted candles, cruci- 
fix, and a beautiful pink hydrangea plant. It made a 
lovely improvised altar. The soldier-priest was so 
picturesque in his long white vestment with sky-blue 
uniform showing through the lace. I loved it. 

August 5th, 1918, 
My, but yesterday was a satisfactory Sunday. After 
luncheon at the canteen, some of us went in the truck 
to visit the " Scottish Women's Hospital " at the Abbey 
of Royaumont. The old stone abbey, built by St. Louis 
in 1228, is the most picturesque place in the world, 
with its beautiful gothic windows, high, slender steeple 
and vine -covered walls. Imagine the picture : the old 
pillared cloisters filled with rows of wounded French 
and Americans — grey walls and flagstone floors, black 
iron cots and turkey red quilts, white hospital shirts 
128 



with scarlet crosses. Then the huge gothic chapel, high, 
high ceiling, glorious stained glass windows at one end, 
and at the other a high arched entrance — and more 
rows of cots and scarlet covers. In the chapel I found a 
Marine from Detroit, only eighteen years old, with a 
terrible wound. His right elbow is shot away and he 
suffers agonies. They have to give him morphine after 
every dressing and every night so that he can sleep. 
Well, I spent all my afternoon with him because he 
would n't let me go — he simply clung to me and begged 
me to stay. You really can't imagine what it means to 
our boys to see and talk with an American girl. I can't 
realize it myself, only I know they make you feel like 
a fairy princess. This kid has huge black eyes, black, 
black hair, and is so white and gaunt. He reminded me 
of Don, teasing me to sing more songs, when he begged 
me not to go away. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

August 10th, 1918. 
Dearest Mother, here are millions of kisses and one 
long hug for you on your birthday. If I could get to 
Paris I would cable you, but I can not do that, and we 
are not allowed to cable from here. But here is love, 
love, and more love from your devoted 

Doris. 
P.S. Got a peach of a letter from Junior and am so glad 
to know where he is. If he ever needs me for anything, 

129 



he has promised to let me know. If Ruth comes over, 
please bring my black velvet dress. A Poilu came back 
to the Gout three times to look at my ankles. 

" The White House " 
Dear Family : 

XHAD just a few minutes ago thrown myself 
on my bed to snatch a bit of " repos " 
before going to work at noon — -as I got up 
very early this morning to go to Creil with 
Al for meat — when I heard my name yelled excitedly, 
and then "Boches!" I ran to the window and saw for the 
first time here in Chantilly a great bunch of German 
prisoners shuffling past our house. Gee, but you don't 
know how much good that sight did my heart. They 
looked up at me in the window and I was joyous to have 
them see me standing there with our American flag 
blowing over my head. 

The war news is too wonderful and every one has taken 
a new lease on life, particularly the French people. They 
can not sing too loudly the praises of our American 
troops, " Chic soldats " is one of their favorite expres- 
sions 6» SO 

€[ But in spite of it all, I 'm blue this morning. One of 
my nice boy friends has just come way out from Paris 
to tell me good-bye as he is entering an artillery school, 
but I was not in and missed him. That is the fourth or 
fifth time he has tried to see me. You don't know how 
disappointing it is to miss a chance for a nice visit like 
130 



that because you see I get so tired of always writing 
these boys and hardly ever seeing them. It is quite 
tragic 5«» s+ 

Well, I think I won't try to write any more now. We see 
and do pretty nearly the same things every day, but of 
course with always different lighting effects on the same 
scenery. I am as thrilled as ever over my work, have 
applied for another three months' extension of my 
papers which expire on the 22nd of this month. 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
Serveillers. 
Dear Family : 

XAM having aweek at Serveillers as caissaire, 
quite the weight of the world on my head, 
as I have the responsibility of all the money 
matters of the canteen. But we have a peach 
of a crowd here this week, Brundred, Tenny, Larrabee 
and O'Brien, all young bloods, and you can't know the 
difference it makes in our morale. We work like nailers 
but we play between times quite as strenuously. 
Al has tonsilitis and she is blue as indigo. Poor kid has 
nasty tonsils and is going to have them taken out before 
the Winter sets in. You know I thank my lucky stars 
many times a day to think that I had mine out before 
I left home. I have been absolutely free from sore- 
throat, in the midst of coughing, gargling co-workers — 
and then think of the corking time I had when I had 
my operation ! 

131 



The war still goes on gloriously. I get short cards from 
my godson Duyck, written in the midst of the battle 
that has been raging now for over a week. His regiment 
is in the thick of things, and I feel so anxious about him. 
You know I told you that he is only twenty and is the 
image of Nelson grown up. He is so sweet and bright, 
and I feel quite like his real, christened godmother now 
since I 've seen him. After the war, he so wants to 
come to America, and I should like to be able to show 
him the way Americans live and work. 
Last Sunday I drove some of the workers over to the 
Scottish Women's Hospital at Royaumont. We took a 
big crate of peaches, some home-made fudge, and 
cigarettes. How anxiously our American boys look for 
us, and it is too wonderful to see their faces light up as 
they catch sight of us coming through the cloisters. 
There was quite a bit of excitement amongst the Yanks, 
as a French officer had been to the hospital a few days 
before and taken names for the awarding of French 
medals. It seems that six of our boys are to get the 
" croix de guerre," and a boy from Detroit, in whom I 
have been especially interested, is to be given the 
" medaille militaire " and " croix de guerre " with 
palm. Poor kid, he certainly deserves it, as he has had 
his whole elbow blow away, and even though they may 
be able to prevent an amputation, he will never have 
the use of his right arm again. You see the " medaille 
militaire " is given for the most serious wounds. Well, 
it was too amusing and typical of American honesty to 
132 



hear those kids discuss the matter. I told them how 
glad I was about it and so on, and then they said, " But 
say now honestly, nurse, can you tell me just why 
we 're getting these medals ? We did n't do anything 
to earn them, but just let a ball hit us." And the 
Detroiter lay there with his dead white face and bright 
black eyes, and in such a humorous voice said, " Now 
sister, it 's too funny. Gee whiz! Imagine me with a 
medal militaire ! And what have I done to deserve it? 
Now really, please tell me why I should be given that." 
So I tried to explain that it was a recognition of the 
sacrifice he had made for our country and France, and 
when he said he could n't see that he 'd made much of 
a sacrifice, I said I thought giving his good right arm 
in the cause of liberty and freedom was quite some- 
thing to do. Well, it was very sweet, their unconscious 
heroism. 

Some days later. 
We 've just come down to the canteen in the midst of 
the most active day air raid I 've ever seen. Three 
Boches hummed over us to the booming accompani- 
ment of all the defense guns for miles around. We saw 
them plainly, sailing along, great white monsters in 
the midst of black puffs of smoke. Then we began to 
hear the buzz of French planes and counted over ten 
of them giving chase. They 've passed now, and are 
out of sight. You must be getting tired of my writing 
about air raids. I seem to go into lengthy descriptions 

133 



of them in every letter, but they are so wonderful. 
C To change the subject — though I can't say to a 
pleasanter theme — what do you think now? Al and I 
are covered with " totos," in English, cootie-bites. 
Talk about agony ! We are almost wild, and the awful 
part is that we can not at all discover where we get 
them. Al's theory is that they are in our beds. Well, 
she is right too, for upon a close inspection of hers, we 
found three large fellows and quite a settlement of eggs. 
But that has all been thoroughly cleansed and purified 
and still we continue to be devoured. I guess we get 
them from ye Poilus and bring them home, and then 
in ye wee sma' hours they get hungry and partake of us. 
Well, we should worry — don't much. 
I got a letter from Jim Coatsworth telling me about his 
flying boat accident, also asking me to dine with him 
in Paris in September when he comes up from Italy for 
a ten days' leave. Would n't it be fun if Ruth were here 
then? When are you coming, dear old nut? Last night 
I got thinking about your dear, calm face, and I got so 
excited about seeing you. I hang on the mails for news 
from you on the subject. Please tell Tot I was so 
impressed with the clipping about her engagement, but 
I am glad to be able to say that nary a drop of jealousy 
crept into my joy for her. 

Now I must into my ticket stall. It will be like being 
cooked alive today. 

Ever lovingly, 

Dodie. 
134 



Dear Fami 

& 



" The White House," 
August 12th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

'EE ! but that was exciting ! A German plane 
just flew over us, way, way up above the 
clouds, with the sun shining on it. I dashed 
to the window when I heard the banging of 
our anti-aircraft guns, and I can tell you the shells were 
bursting about that bird of prey at a great rate. He 
dodged behind the few clouds that are afloat this after- 
noon, but had to come out soon and duck for Germany. 
The aggravating part is that photographs can be taken 
from a plane flying way out of reach of any cannon, and 
yet our planes can not go up to fight for fear of being 
hit by our own barrage. Well, we '11 get him before he 
gets home, I hope. 

Of course you are reading about the hundreds of prison- 
ers the Allies are taking. Every day we see loads of 
them passing through both Chantilly and Orry. Lucky 
dogs! " War finish " for them now and mighty good 
treatment from their captors. 

August 13th, 1918. 
I 'm on night duty again, this time as an old girl and 
head of the shift, and I want to say that keeping these 
French servants in order is no joke. They beat it off 
with the Poilus whenever they get an opportunity — 
which is only too often furnished by the almost nightly 
signal of hostile aircraft. Lights must all be put out, 

135 



and if the barrage gets too heavy every one runs to the 
woods to seek protection under the trees. Nutty idea! 
Though I suppose the trees would dissipate the falling 
shrapnel s©» so 

I will take a bit of " repos " now for this aft we are 
going over to Senlis to visit hospitals and see the 
wonderful old cathedral there, built in 1155. 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
August 14th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^** ^^UST received Mother's and Don's wonderful 
^ ■ letters of the 19th of July. I get so thrilled 
Ufc M, over them that my heart trips faster than 

^^ j^r after a cup of black coffee. And the photos! 
They are so welcome. I rushed about, showing them 
to all of the girls and we fairly beamed over them. Pa's 
chicken pot-stew sounded luscious, and as chicken is 
about the only thing we never get over here, I was quite 
envious. And Don's letter was so dear. I '11 answer it 
soon s«* 5«» 

Well, I 'm certainly in luck having Al chaufnng here at 
the canteen, because I am getting in on the most 
wonderful auto rides. We went rolling all about the 
country this morning, looking for fresh vegetables for 
our Poilus. I can not tell you how soul-restful it was. 
We went winding down little hills into sleepy villages ; 
the women were washing their linen in the streams 
that run through most of the little towns, and we saw 
136 



small groups of blue -clad soldiers marching along the 
narrow cobble-stoned streets. The sky was blue, the 
hay was golden, the sunlight bright, and we were happy. 
When I was in Paris, I bought two dozen gaily painted 
rubber balls, and so, whenever I go in the auto, I take 
a few and toss them to the children as we pass. You 
can't imagine how pleased they are. They act as though 
suddenly from the sky St. Nicholas had thrown them 
the most beautiful gift — dear little kids! I 'm on night 
duty, you see, so I can fill my days with many wonderful 
excursions s«» s*» 

Yesterday a bunch of us went to Senlis in the big 
camion to visit a hospital there. We took a huge mar- 
mite of hot chocolate, loads of cigarettes, playing cards 
and some fudge. We found the hospital which was kept 
by nuns, in a long, low building, with a quaint flagstone 
courtyard. There were " Grands blesses " there, and 
among them five American boys. The walls of one of 
the long wards were riddled with bullet holes that had 
been made by the Germans in 1914, and at one end, 
the walls about the large crucifix were simply peppered, 
but not one shot had touched the cross nor had one of 
the wounded been hit. Was n't it a miracle? You know 
this sort of hospital work is about the most satisfactory 
thing we do. You can imagine what it means to our boys, 
tucked off in some out-of-the-way French hospital, to 
suddenly see a smiling American face leaning over him 
with American cigarettes in her left hand and in the 
right hand a good Yankee hand- shake — and then a 

137 



chance to talk about " back home." I 'm not exaggerat- 
ing when I say that now I can spot an American boy 
every time in the midst of rows of Frenchmen and 
before he speaks a word. They have a certain clear look 
in their eyes, and frank open faces. I '11 be going down 
a ward full of Frenchmen, stopping at each bed with 
hot chocolate perhaps, and chatting a little with each 
man about his wounds — they want so to talk about their 
wounds — when, suddenly, I '11 see a face maybe half 
way down the room, looking at me and smiling, and 
I '11 say, "Ah! You 're an American." " You bet I am, 
Ma'am." We 've often been able to send to Paris for 
an American nurse to come out and take care of these 
poor, isolated Yanks. And then it 's so glorious to be 
able to help the Frenchmen, they are so grateful and 
appreciative. One French boy with seven wounds, and 
on the brink between life and death, smiled a faint, 
happy smile when I gave him a box of dominoes and 
asked him if he knew how to play. He was so weak, 
but he wanted to show me his knowledge of the game 
and painstakingly began placing the pieces in order on 
his bed. He was just twenty years old. The nun says 
he can not live. 

Oh, Ruth! hurry up and come over. I look each day for 
a letter from you asking me to cable for you. You must 
go in for hospital recreation work with us this winter, 
it is wonderful they say. We would have a hut connected 
with some large hospital and have all sorts of things 
there to amuse the sick and convalescent boys — 
138 



Victrola, games, piano, reading and writing materials, 
chocolate, cigarettes, etc. I know you 'd adore it. 
We 're staying here through September anyway, and 
could all go in for something new together. I 'm so 
crazy to hear from you. 

I 've just finished wrapping up a fine batch of fudge to 
send to Junior Trubee. I made it at the canteen last 
night. Gee, but it tastes like home! 
I am enclosing two letters I just received from such 
sweet young boys — one, Xavier, a most wonderful 
looking East Indian, and the other a French boy, who 
passed through Orry one day. These are only sample 
letters. I have so many of them. The men love above 
everything to receive and to write letters, it 's about 
the only amusement they have at the Front. Speaking 
of fronts, if it does n't stop moving away from us, we '11 
be left absolutely in the shade. We only occasionally 
hear the firing now, and at that very faintly, really 
" tres tranquil ici maintenant." 

These nights at the canteen, as I look out at the passing 
trains, it is a solemn thing to see the long Red Cross 
hospital cars go slowly by; some of them have green 
lights inside and they look so ghostly and dismal. 
Well, every one, I must lay me down a bit now. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 



139 



" The White House," 
Between 1 and 2 A. M., 
August 20th, 1918. 
Dearest Tot : 

^*- ^^UST one minute ago the " alert " for an air 
f\ ■ raid went sputtering off, in the form of a 
w M, string of machine-gun shots — about fifty 
^^^j^r seconds later, the wailing siren began its 
warning cry and is still disturbing the peace of this 
wonderful star and moonlit night. Ah ! there go the 
great defense guns between here and Creil. That means 
that in a few minutes we shall hear the hum of the Hun 
planes, at first far off and then growing louder and 
more distinct ; then our own anti-aircraft guns will begin 
booming 5«» s» 

There they go, bang, boom ! Al is looking out the window 
and says that the great, powerful searchlights hardly 
make an impression tonight, the moon is so bright. 
Now I hear the planes coming, surging, surging, 
steadily louder. Sput, sput, sput, the machine guns are 
spitting their heads off, I 've never heard them so per- 
sistent. Here they are, the planes! Out go my lights. 
They must be on top of us. 

Good night! Tot! but that was thrilling for a while. When 
I blew out my candle I ran to the window and by Jove ! 
if it did n't sound as though one of those Huns was 
right over my head. Then suddenly the noise of the 
motor absolutely stopped. Can it be that one of our 
140 



guns got the Bochc? It would be too wonderful. We 
ran out doors then and there up over our heads was the 
most perfect full moon with little puffs of smoke from 
our cannon floating all around it, like some new kind 
of advertisement for puffed rice. 

I 'm back to my upper chamber again. There comes 
another motor — they are still trying to skin through to 
Paris. Aha! the defense guns are fairly shaking this 
little house with their firing. I can hear shrapnel from 
them falling out in our garden. Good night! that is the 
first time I 've heard the whistle of a shell, but I 
certainly did just then. The machine guns are sending 
out tracer bullets and they go darting up into the sky 
like giant rockets on the Fourth of July. Out goes my 
candle, the planes are on top of us again! 



Heavens, what a sport — to think that those guns are 
after men. Is n't it horrible? I can't wait till tomorrow 
to hear the news, also to pick up the shrapnel that 's 
been hailing down on our roof and court. The cannon 
are still booming, the machine guns still spitting and 
the surge of the planes still in my ears. Later they will 
be coming back over us on their return trip from Paris 
to Berlin. But here 's hoping they will have to stop off 
" Somewhere in France " instead of ever reaching 
their destination. 

I 'm going to bed now. I 'm tired and find the war 

141 



suddenly awfully boring. I am sitting out on the stairs 
so that the light from my candle can not be seen. 
Love to all, Dodie. 

How I adored your and your mother's letters and the 
photo of Kell. Try it again. 

American Red Cross, 
August 26th, 1918. 
Dearest Family : 

>, 4|^^^WO postmarks of the United States of 
m v\ America greeted me here at the canteen 
^_ 1 yesterday, with well-known and greatly 

^^Igglr beloved handwriting on each envelope. I 
have never enjoyed any letters from you, Mother and 
Father, more than those. But imagine with what 
hectic curiosity I scanned their pages looking for news 
of Ruth and Captain Terry. Nothing there but " Ruth 
has gone on a picnic with Capt. Terry, Edith, Pav," etc. ; 
and " Ruth has gone to the Country Club to a dance 
with Cody, Bill, Tom, Dick and Harry and Capt. Terry." 
It is aggravating me to the point of frenzy. But I know 
that by the time I have written all the questions I should 
like answered, I shall have heard at length from Ruth 
herself. And Tom Wilfred — whom is he engaged to, 
when and how, etc.? 

And now for " la guerre." Yesterday we had our record 
day at the canteen at S — , served over one thousand 
meals in three hours, seven girls to serve them. It was 
some rush but awfully exciting. With all the hundreds 
142 



of francs I handled, I was short only six at the end and 
that is not bad when you consider it. The mixing part 
of that job is that I never have enough small money 
and am always having to make queer combinations of 
one, two, five and ten sou pieces in order to give the 
Poilus their correct change. I 'm glad enough this week 
to be on a new shift — " Gout de cafe " and " rembourse- 
ment " till next Monday. 

It is getting a little cooler now and the Poilus begin to 
talk of winter in the trenches. I guess it is quite a 
question as to which is more acceptable, summer and 
fighting or winter and frozen feet; but summer or 
winter, these Frenchmen are good sports and never 
by any chance complain more than to shrug their 
shoulders and say, " But four years of war is a long 
time, Mademoiselle." 

Father warns me not to let the Poilus get too fresh and 
not to think they are honest. No danger, they are 
always sensitive to conditions and are as gentle as 
lambs with us American girls. If I have ever been 
afraid of any men, sober or intoxicated, fresh or other- 
wise, I am quite cured now. I have decided ideas as to 
which of the sexes is the weaker half. 
Dear folks, I must tell you about the wonderful spree 
six of us girls had the other night. Brundred and Tenny, 
Larrabee and Davis, Al and I conceived the brilliant 
idea of spending a night in the forest. We hired two 
cozy old Victorias to tote us, with our blankets, food, 
etc., to a certain beautiful little lake where we planned 

143 



to eat our picnic supper and to sleep on the crest of a 
hill just above it. I think when the people in C — saw 
us start out in our carriages, sleeping bags and every 
other sort of thing bulging out on ever side, they must 
have said, "And what are those wild Americans doing 
now? " (The French people really like us, I think, but 
Oh! how we do puzzle them.) It was a glorious night, 
full moon and bright stars reflecting in the little lake 
and shining through the branches of the trees of the 
forest. We gossiped and sang to our hearts' content, 
and then, suddenly, sleepiness overcame us and we 
staggered up the hill to our place of rest. I think this 
unsettled life in France has been excellent training for 
us, for we just threw ourselves down on the hard ground 
and slept like tops. True, at about 4.30 in the morning 
I was awakened by the gentle tapping of raindrops on 
my face. I aroused the others, but after they had 
sleepily gathered themselves and their blankets 
together, and we were about to descend to seek shelter, 
we all had a change of heart and decided to finish out 
the night, rain or no. It was really delightful, lying there 
with the light rain sprinkling on us. At about seven 
o'clock we awoke permanently and walked down to 
the " Reine Blanche Cafe " and had a delicious hot 
breakfast, which was cooked and ready for us under 
the trees. I am enclosing photos of the lake, and cafe, 
which is really the cottage of the forest guard. Was n't 
that a glorious party? So, Mother, don't for a minute 
think that you all should n't be happy and care-free 
144 



over there in America ; every one over here in France 
snatches all the joy that they can, and for that reason 
sometimes it seems to me the gayest place in the world. 
C[ I asked Joseph Duyck if he thought that the war v/as 
making men more cruel and hard, and he said not at 
all, that he was sure for his part, since he has seen so 
much suffering and suffered too himself, that he will 
always be more sympathetic and thoughtful of others. 
I am sure he is right. 

Today such a nice young soldier boy from Flanders 
came up and introduced himself to me as a friend of 
Duyck's. He had been to school in England before the 
war and spoke excellent English. He had the most 
tragic story to tell. When the war first broke out, and 
the Germans poured through Belgium into Flanders, 
his mother and father, with four of their youngest 
children, fled from their home in Lille. His three older 
sisters, the youngest of them only nineteen, stayed 
behind to guard the home, perfectly confident that the 
war would not last more than fifteen days. That is the 
last their family have ever heard of the three daughters 
— not a word of any kind for over four years. Imagine 
that mother's agony! Perhaps it is easier for me to 
realize it, because I saw the boy's face as he told the 
story. Then I tried to cheer him up some and told him 
of the young boy who has been giving us French les- 
sons, whose mother and sister have just been repatri- 
ated after four years with the Germans ; but I did not 
tell him that the sister's right foot is gone, having been 

145 




cut off by a Hun officer's saber. Things like that are 
horrible, when you hear them told by a brother. 
Well, I must close now, with a kiss and hug all around. 
Yours, Dodie. 

" The White House," Chantilly, 
August 28th, 1918. 
Dear Everyone : 

'Y, what a life ! Three exciting things have 
happened today, one right on top of the 
other. I '11 begin with the least thrilling and 
work up to the climax gradually. 
First — I 've just succeeded in turning up my hair. It 
is in a regular knot at the back of my neck, just as in 
the days before clipping, and I can't stop gazing at my 
side and back view in the mirror, it brings back so 
many memories of long ago. Father would be greatly 
pleased with my head now. 

Then second — Al and I got permits to go to Paris tomor- 
row on a spree. We 're going to ride around in Victorias 
all day and eat at LaRue's — and I 'm going to buy 
black silk stockings. No one can realize the luxury of 
the latter, who has not been in France the last two 
years. I 've plodded around in nasty, thick, black lisles 
long enough and really need the change. 
But hold your breath now ! 

Third — We have received marching orders from head- 
quarters, and expect to be sent from this canteen at 
Orry to one for our own Yankee boys at Toul in the 
146 



Vosges Valley. Is n't that a thriller? Right on the border 
of Lorraine and where I imagine things will be " doing " 
shortly. All I know about it now is that as soon as our 
papers can be obtained and new workers sent out here 
to replace us, off we march for a new battlefield. As 
an aside, and really only for mother's and Father's 
ears, let me say that Mrs. Vanderbilt thinks that 
" our type of American girls " should be with our own 
boys and not half wasted on the Frenchmen. Be that 
as it may, I know that I 'm very glad to have a whack 
at an American canteen. 

August 31st, 1918. 
Well, Al and I went to Paris and had a great day and 
night there. We saw Mrs. Vanderbilt and she was so 
dear. She said we would be relieved out here next 
week by three new workers from America, and then 
we could take the twelve days that are needed to 
procure our papers for the American War Zone and 
go off on a long vacation. She also told us that she has 
Al's and my name down as a " team " to be sent out 
with an aviation squadron later on. That would be too 
fascinating. We would move about with our esquadrille 
and probably see some pretty exciting things. Now, 
dearest Mother, don't ever worry about any of these 
things that I tell you. In the first place, I can not over- 
emphasize the fact that things are always more scarey 
looking at them from a distance, when it comes to 
imagining what is going on over here in France ; I know 
you paint things just about one hundred shades blacker 

147 



than they really are. Then Mrs. Vanderbilt, or any 
other official of the Red Cross, has our safety at heart 
almost as much as you or Father — the trouble is that 
they are too cautious and one practically never has any 
chance of a real thrill. That is not quite what I mean 
but it is written to try to make you really see that I run 
no more risks here in France than if I were at " Loch- 
evan," Derby, N. Y., spending the Summer. C. Al and 
I had Major and Mrs. Olds to dinner at the Crillion. 
We stopped there all night and got up the next morning 
at six to take the train back to Orry and our day's work 
at the canteen. So ended a happy day in " Parie." s«» 
I burn to hear what luck the esquadrilles of French 
bombing planes had that flew over C — as we were 
about to take the train for Paris. There were forty-six 
of them flying east in battle formation, with the early 
morning sun shining on their wings. Here 's praying 
they had better luck than the forty-three that flew over 
us about a week ago. The squadron went sailing off to 
Germany and a few hours later returned fifteen short. 
€[ The war is going on so marvelously — what a dif- 
ference I see in the Poilus' spirit from a month ago! 
Every one is gay and expectant. The last letter I had 
from my godson was written during a battle ; they had 
been marching day and night on the road to Noyon, 
sometimes fighting and almost continuously shelled 
with poison gas. He says, " I have the chest burned 
inside and my eyes, too. That all is nothing because I 
know that the Germans shall be down shortly. We are 
148 



looking for the war to be finished next Winter." Poor 
kid ! with the happiest, gentlest disposition in the world 
having to live through that sort of thing. He is only 
twenty but his eyes look those of a man of thirty or 
more. His letter starts with " Dear Godmother — 
Excuse me writing with pencil. I can not really do it 
with a pen because I am now in the open field, advanc- 
ing, still on the way to Noyon. Day and night marching 
sometimes fighting. We stay sometimes for two days 
and nights where the Germans are keeping themselves 
up (I suppose he means holding the French for a 
while). Once they have counter-attacked our positions, 
but they could never reach our trenches and so many 
were killed in the wire entanglements. Yes, now it is 
the very war." You know I am so anxious to see how 
he will come out of this battle, perhaps with another 
star on his croix de guerre. He already has two for 
unusual bravery under fire. 

Well, dear people, now I must down to dinner and then 
to bed. The Poilus made me blush twice today — I don't 
know why, unless it was because I was a little tired — 
but all of a sudden they just seemed quite overpowering 
and I could n't retain the necessary dignity in the face 
of those several score of interested and smiling faces 
at the Gout de Cafe. I just blushed and smilingly bid 
them " bonjour " and retreated into the kitchen. They 
were so amused, and murmured " Elle est tres jeune " 
and " Elle rougit " (She is very young, she blushes.) 
Well, good-bye for a bit. Ever love to all, Doris. 

149 




" The White House," 
September 7th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

OU can imagine how pretty nearly all our 
thoughts are now on the American canteen 
at Toul where we expect soon to be sent. 
But it will probably be a week or ten days 
before the new workers come out here to release us, 
and then we are going to have about ten days' permis- 
sion before taking up our new duties, Mrs. Vanderbilt 
is going to let Larrabee get off at the same time as Al, 
Mugs and I, and Mrs. Olds is coming with us also. 
We are pretty sure that Brittany will be the scene of 
our relaxation, and I am already smelling the salt air 
and revelling over the quaint fishermen that we shall 
see there. 

The war is going so splendidly and the Front daily 
being pushed so much farther away from us that we 
are now well out of the sound of cannon and the 
shuffling of troops past our door. It is really too tranquil 
here in C — , and I 'm keen to get to seething Toul. 
<[ Spen's cable arrived yesterday, and I immediately 
wrote to Major Olds, asking him if he could n't cable 
for Spen to come over attached to the Military Affairs 
Bureau, and then to be assigned to work when he 
arrives. It is so much more satisfactory not to sign up 
for something before you really know just what the 
work is going to be. I expect an answer soon. Al went 
in to talk to Olds about Jack, and I think Don's case 
150 



is about similar, so I shall tell you what he said. Jack 
has tried to get into every branch of the service, but 
on account of his eyes has been rejected. But the Red 
Cross can not take any men within the draft age now, 
even if unfit for military duty ; they really can not, they 
have been so much criticized. I don't suppose that 
applies to men over thirty, and if it did, I don't quite 
see how they would be able to get any good men for 
Red Cross work. I simply pine to see " Pennie " heave 
in sight, and he must let me know instantly when he 
arrives, so that I can plan to meet him some place. 
d Of course I am thinking most every minute of Ruth. 
It is the happiest and the saddest thing, having her 
married, that has happened to me for a long time. You 
know it makes me quite homesick and lonely. Instance 
the pitiful thing that happened last night. I had gone to 
bed early, and when Al came up later on, I was just on 
the borderland of sleep. I heard some one at the door 
and I called, " Mother." That was a glorious moment 
before I quite came to and realized where I was. 
Today I am sending Junior a large box of salted walnuts 
that I have succeeded in purchasing from the canteen. 
I tried very hard to get raisins to send with them, but 
that was quite impossible. Even as it was, I had to 
shuffle things a bit and give the canteen eggs in 
exchange for the nuts. 

We are having huge crowds at the canteen at S — this 
week, over ten and eleven hundred " repas " at noon. 
I tell you those old trays just fly from the counter into 

151 



the astonished Poilus' hands. You know the French 
people are almost stunned with American system and 
hustle and any number of Poilus have come up to us 
and said, " You know this is wonderful. We could 
never do this in the world. It takes the Americans to 
think of a thing like this." And really it certainly takes 
some system to serve 1157 dinners in three hours and 
a half. I 've been " slinging trays " this week, and I 'd 
be quite reduced to a " Sylph " if it were n't that the 
husky exercise is more of a developer than a reducer. 
d. Now I must take the train for S — and leave you for 
" le moment." 

Ever love, 

Doris. 
P.S. Spen must bring C-A-N-D-Y. You can not imagine 
how every one in the canteen adores Andrew's and 
Morris' letters. They are eagerly looked for in the mails. 
Keep sending photos. I adore them. 

" The White House," 
Chantilly, France, 
September 13th, 1918. 
Dearest Family : 

aNTIL just a few moments ago I admit that 
I was finding Chantilly pretty slow after all 
the excitement we had during our first 
months here ; but now I 've just seen one 
of the most impressing and touching sights of the war, 
right from the front window of our house. I heard the 
152 



sound of drums and bugles and young boys shouting, 
and rushed to the window in time to see what all the 
excitement was about. It was the class of 1920, young 
eighteen year old boys of Chantilly, who have just come 
back tonight from Creil where they went this morning 
to take their examinations for the Army. These are the 
kids that have passed and been accepted as soldiers. 
Well, you can not imagine the patheticness of it to me. 
They were all decked out with tri-color paper rosettes, 
ribbons streaming from their caps, and some had their 
faces all painted red, " only to be amusing," they said. 
Think of these kids, only fourteen years old when the 
war commenced; and now if it keeps on much longer, 
they will be swallowed up like all the rest of the 
French manhood. Well, c'est la guerre! But to counter- 
act that, what glorious news from the American Front! 
This morning our Yanks advanced eight kilometers in 
the locality of St. Mihiel and took eight thousand 
prisoners and are still advancing. Now we wait with 
baited breath for tonight's communique. And to think 
that is all going on quite in the part of the country 
where Al, Mugs and I expect to be most any day. 
Mrs. Vanderbilt came out to the canteen today, but I 
can not say we got any satisfaction from her as to 
when we are to move. She says she has given up making 
any promises, or talking much to the girls about canteen 
changes. Things are too uncertain when a war is on s©» 
I am still awaiting Major Olds' answer to my letter about 
Spen. And now that I 'm talking shop, for goodness' 

153 



sake, please don't, any one I love, come over with the 
Y. M. C. A. I hate to give it such a black eye, but I 
guess my little raps won't hurt much after the sound 
knocks it gets every day from our boys. As an organiza- 
tion, it has certainly made an awful fiasco of its work 
over here. 

Well, folks, must arise tomorrow morning at six. Dark 
and cold, and " Oh! you Devotion, Where art thou 
now? " I understand that Winter begins in this part of 
the country next month, October. " C'est pour ca " 
that I am wildly sending for warm wrappers and bed 
socks. I have a requisition in for the latter and will 
mail it the instant it comes out from Paris. 
Love to all and good-night kisses. 

Doris. 
P.S. Half of this letter was written in the dark, the 
other half in a jolting train. 

September 16th, 1918. 
Dear Mother : 

^C""Bf^^HAT a glorious letter from you today, 
l| ^^ written on August 19th, with all the news of 
W I W Ruth and Terry that I have been starving 
V^L^^ for the last month! It is too wonderful 
to think how happy they must be. Now I await with 
equal longing a letter describing the wedding and a 
photo of the bridal couple — that I must have. 
It was too amusing this morning. I was out in the 
Gout reading bits of your letter to Larrabee, and 
154 



was one quite intoxicated old Poilu standing at the 
counter drinking coffee. Well, he just got exceedingly 
hilarious over the fact that I was reading " American," 
he almost doubled up with mirth and kept saying, 
" Oui, oui, they 're talking American, I can tell by the 
sound. Haha! it 's American they 're talking all the 
time." He had one black eye and his hair was clipped 
like a convict's, but I assure you his appearance was 
quite the contrary of brutal. Finally he laughed so 
boisterously and kept interrupting me so often to tell 
me that I was talking "American," that we had to 
retreat into the kitchen to finish the letter. When I 
went outside again about ten minutes later he was 
still there, and I found him confiding in a low voice to 
a dignified " sous-officier " that " two ladies had just 
been talking American." 

Did you ever get the photo of me with the bunch of 
Poilus — I standing in the center? I wonder, for you 
have n't mentioned it. 

Our boys are still going on reaping in prisoners, and it 
makes me wild to be so far away. We are champing at 
the bit to get to our new job at Toul. Look it up, it 's 
on the Moselle River near Nancy. 

Now I 'm going to bed, but will write more tomorrow. 
From my desk I am looking out at a gorgeous wintry 
sunset, long streaks of lead-blue cloud fringing burning 
golden glow. The tile roofs of the houses and quaint 
chimney-tops are very picturesque against the sky. 

Good night. 

155 



September 17th, 1918 
Dear Ma : 

Will you mail me two copies of " Old Home Songs " 
under two separate covers. You know the ones I mean, 
with a picture of a fireplace on the cover? I shall have 
need of them at Toul. 

I have still not heard from Major Olds about Spen, 
and don't quite know what to do about it. There is 
really nothing that I can do, I guess, so I '11 just wait. 
C Am thinking about Ruth's wedding present. Please 
don't hurry me. 

Love, 
Doris. 

American Red Cross, 
September 18th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^^Jll^^ ELL me not in mournful numbers " that 
M l^i woman's part in winning this war " is but 
^L \ an empty dream." From serving meals to 

^^^g/^ six hundred Poilus every day at noon time, 
we have now jumped up to twelve and thirteen hundred, 
and I can tell you it means some exertion on the part 
of " ces dames." All this eating goes on within about 
four hours. Yesterday I was " tray slinger " and passed 
eleven hundred meals from the serving table to the 
counter in three hours and a half. I have to admit that 
last night after I got to bed I was so tired and I ached 
so that I could n't go to sleep till dear old Al rubbed all 
156 



the knots out of my muscles. But " I should worry," 
for I succeeded in buying five " Gott Mit Uns " belts 
to bring home to any one who wants them. Kell is to 
have one to wear with his white flannels — they are 
awfully " swanky! " (The last is our latest expression, 
acquired from our two Australian co-workers.) It is 
great, being at S — this week, for there we get the Poilus 
on their way home from the Front, and they have lots 
of Boche trophies, which, as luck and military law will 
have it, the men are not allowed to take home with 
them. So every evening a wheelbarrow rumbles past 
the canteen, overflowing with German bayonets, 
helmets, shells, caps, etc. The sergeant told us to come 
with him to the shed where he stores the things, and 
he would give us all the booty we wanted. One of the 
girls got a short bayonet with a saw edge ; it seems that 
the Hun uses his spare time in the trenches to hack 
teeth in the blade. It must be quite satisfying, this self- 
expression of his artistic nature. 

The winter storms are setting in now, and the last few 
nights we 've had wild, glorious wind and rain and 
thunder. Oh, no, I '11 take back the glorious, though 
they do seem that to me as I stand in my window look- 
ing out, until with a start I remember the men in the 
trenches, and along the roads and in the open fields, 
and the rain and wind seem cruel and hateful. Then 
always the following morning, when the men come to 
the canteen for something hot to drink, looking so 
woebegone and damp and tossed about, the only 

157 



worth-while thing in the world seems to be able to 
give each one a smile and a cheery word. I wonder if 
I shall ever again drink a cup of hot " chocolat " with- 
out thinking of all the thousand smiles I 've seen 
blaze up in tired men's faces as I say to them, " Voulez- 
vous du chocolat? " Just think, most of them haven't 
tasted it for months, and I guess some for years, and 
they are simply crazy about it. They will take a couple 
of good gulps and then look at each other and almost 
invariably say, " Ca fait du bien " (that does one good). 
Oh ! this work is utterly satisfying. 

September 19th, 1918. 
Mother dear, dear, dear, how I adore your letters Just 
received one written on August 29th all about Ruth 
and George. It is too wonderful and perfect. Also 
received Father's cable about wedding. Wonder if 
Ruth got Al's. 

A huge crowd at the canteen today. About thirteen 
hundred meals served and gallons and gallons of choco- 
late and coffee consumed. I did n't go down till the 
second train today, at 9.25 A. M., so it only meant from 
ten till about four for me. Some rushing and tearing 
about, I can tell you. Well, it is about like this — imagine 
the excitement and bustle of our annual Derby Church 
Fair repeated day after day, and you '11 have some 
idea of our canteen routine. We have a cup of chocolate 
and some bread and butter at about eleven, just before 
beginning to serve the lunches, and then nary a bit of 
158 



luncheon for ourselves till about four in the afternoon. 
Oh! I adore it though, and am not a bit too tired. This 
evening I heard the rumble of a wheelbarrow and 
rushed out in time to grab a German steel helmet and 
short bayonet. I am only wondering now how I shall 
cart all this stuff about. Guess I '11 leave it in Paris. 
These things have all come down from around Soissons 
and Compiegne. 

I must tell you how puffed up I am becoming over a 
certain part of my anatomy, which seems to have made 
a great hit in France. Perhaps you won't think it quite 
delicate, but nevertheless it is rather pleasant to me, as 
all flattery is to most feminine hearts. I told you about 
one Poilu returning to the Gout three times in order 
to admire my ankles, and it seems that he was not the 
one and only. One of the older workers told me today 
that a Poilu asked her who the young lady was, a little 
plump, with such exquisite ankles that he could n't 
eat his breakfast from admiring them. You know, I 
think if I 'm so much appreciated here in France, I '11 
be tempted to stay on and on. 
Well, no more foolishness now — I must to bed. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 



159 



September 22nd, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^^■■r^^ELL, I came away from my week at Servei- 
& 1 1 ^^ Hers nine German belts, one German 
W I W helmet and one short Boche bayonet the 

^^>^L^r richer, but I 'm not half-satisfied yet. I 
must have a camouflaged helmet before I 'm through, 
and yesterday an American boy promised to send me 
one. We had about seven Yanks at the canteen on their 
way to Aix-les -Bains on their permission. They were 
so happy that their faces looked like Sunny Jims, and 
they were so delighted to see American girls that they 
were ready to do or die for us. One of them disappeared 
for a few minutes and then reappeared with a beautiful 
huge bunch of grapes for me. Was n't it sweet of him? 
I put it on the chair back of me and quite forgot it for a 
while. I could n't imagine why so many Poilus came 
and asked if we had " raisins " for sale. Suddenly I 
remembered the tempting sample and hastily hid it 
from view. I suppose I might have given them to the 
poor souls, but I knew it would hurt my American 
friend's feelings. 

My, how the rain has been falling this last week! " II 
tombe de l'eau," and there is quite a nip in the air. 
When I get up at six o'clock in the morning, the moon 
is brightly shining as the sun comes up rosily in the 
East. But Jove! you feel brisk and cheery and awfully 
keen to get to work. The fifteen minutes' train ride 
down to Orry, then a short, snappy walk to the cAHteen, 
160 



and the nice warmth of the big kitchen. Out of your big 
coat and baret, into your apron and coif, fill your big 
pitchers with steaming coffee and chocolate and out 
into the Gout with a happy " bon jour, Messieurs." 
The poor " messieurs " look mighty chilly and damp 
of an early morning nowadays, but after a hot drink 
their spirits mount considerably. You know the thing 
that sometimes almost breaks my heart about the 
Poilus is that so many of them are too old for the hard 
life of a soldier. The other day one man brought back 
his luncheon tray without having eaten a bite of his 
food. I said, "Monsieur, weren't you hungry? " And 
he wearily shrugged his shoulders and said, " Too 
tired." Al almost bursts when we see men that look 
just about like her father. We seem to have seen quite 
a few that look the same age as he and with the same 
iron-grey hair and grey mustache. Oh ! how I adore 
them all, some in shabby, faded " horizon bleu," and 
others jaunty and dashing with baret and curling 
mustache, and all of them so very gallant and " cava- 
lier." It is so sweet to hear the little young kids call me 
"Ma petite dame " (my little lady), and I must say 
I always get a thrill when they stand rigid and salute. 

September 26th, 1918. 
Today when I went out into the Gout, I saw, arranged 
in a row along the counter, about ten wonderful large 
wild mushrooms, and standing close by, eight smiling 
Rpil .. " My what beautiful things," I said. " They are 

161 



for you, Mademoiselle." Was n't it dear of them? I 
was so happy ; my ! but they were delicious, buttery 
with toast underneath. 

Is n't the enclosed card a scream? It was handed me 
by a Poilu who desired to correspond with me. I saw 
him one morning in the Gout and he spoke a bit of 
English, so we had a short chat. The next morning he 
returned and said, " Mademoiselle, last night I came 
to seek you here but I could not see you. I wanted to 
talk English with you." Whereupon he thrust this card 
into my hand, and murmuring something about cor- 
responding, he disappeared. I think the card quite 
speaks for itself, n'est-ce pas? 

Well, Al and I went for a flying half day into Paris to 
order our winter uniforms. They are the regulation 
Red Cross Oxford grey and are being made by Red- 
fern. I am going to have a baret made of the same 
material. So you can think of me something like this — 
Oxford-grey uniform, Oxford-grey baret, " Poilu blue " 
silk shirt, black necktie, black belt and heavy tan boots. 
Not bad, and for Bessie's benefit, will add that no doubt 
my hair will be nicely shampooed and I '11 be quite a 
bit thinner. 

I saw Mrs. Olds, and she said Major O. received my 
letter about Spen and has handed it over to some 
other officer who will take the matter up. That is all I 
could find out, as the Major is out of town, but tomor- 
row Al, Mrs. Church and I are going to town again for 
a fitting, and we shall see him at dinner, and so I may 
162 



have more to report in my next letter. ([We have 
begun selling the Poilus a slice of white bread thickly 
buttered, and if you could see the way those things go — 
hot cakes are n't in it ! I make them fast and furiously, 
but can hardly keep up with the demand. A bowl of 
really delicious hot chocolate and a " tartine " (slice of 
bread and butter) all for seven sous (seven cents) and 
a grinning, delighted and satisfied soldier of France. 
You know butter over here just now is one of the great- 
est treats in the world. Today we experimented with 
doughnuts and plan to make them in great quantities. 
I don't know whether the Frenchmen will appreciate 
them as our Yankee boys do. Up at Toul, where we 
are soon to be sent, they make about thirty -five hundred 
a day — I can see where I turn into one. 
Well, enough for the present. Al says she wants to 
talk now. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

September 28th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

XT was too fascinating ! Mrs. Church, the 
Directrice of our canteen, took Al and me 
marketing with her this morning to the 
famous Paris market, " Les Halles." We 
spent last night in town, and at five o'clock this morning 
our Red Cross camion called for us at the hotel. It was 
pitch dark when we started out, with the moon shining 

163 



through the clouds, and of course no lights in the 
streets except the dark-blue ones in front of the 
" abri " (shelter) signs. 

Well, the first thing we did upon arriving at the market 
was to step into a small cafe and, at the counter, drink 
steaming hot " cafe au lait " from tall wine glasses, 
and eat a slice of bread spread with pate de foies gras. 
Thus fortified against the chilliness of the early morning, 
we proceeded to our work of buying food for our Poilus. 
The market is a huge affair and the most picturesque 
I have ever seen or dreamed of. The streets were lined 
with huge pyramids of cauliflowers, carrots, white tur- 
nips, radishes, etc., all arranged so neatly and artistic- 
ally ; for instance, the turnips were tied in large bunches 
and stacked so that they made wide stripes of green 
and white, the carrots in mounds of orange with all the 
green hidden, and so on. The fruit market was marvel- 
ous with such beautiful purple and white grapes, fresh 
figs, huge pink peaches, fresh mushrooms with fern 
leaves covering them, all packed in attractive straw 
baskets. Then the flower market was a dream — huge 
bunches of bright Autumn leaves and all sorts of wild 
and garden flowers. I was the gayest picture you can 
imagine. As the dawn began to spread, I almost went 
wild over the fascinating people I saw. Such types ! 
dear old ladies in white caps, purring over their flowers ; 
robust peasant women stacking vegetables ; Sisters of 
Charity and Mercy floating through the crowds in 
huge white head-dresses ; and cozy, plump ladies 
164 



wedging their way along with limp parboiled pigs 
slung affectionately across their shoulders. There 
were n't any men, excepting the old fellows whom you 
can hire to carry your purchases in huge square baskets 
that they carry on their heads, and then the " reformes 
(men who are disqualified for further military service) 
who have little carts and will also tote your things for 
you. I shall never forget one picture I saw there, a 
young woman with a lovely face and form, dressed all 
in black, and sitting outlined against a huge stack of 
orange carrots ; I should have so adored to paint her, 
with her sad eyes and really beautiful figure, so languid 
and aloof from the noise and bustle about. At about 
seven o'clock, we went into the huge market cathedral 
and Al and Mrs. Church said their prayers. How I 
envied them and all the market women kneeling there. 
Then back to our cafe and in a little room off the " bar " 
we ate the most delicious breakfast. To top it all off 
royally, Mrs. Church said we might ride back to Orry 
in the camion, and we did enjoy that spin. We got to 
the canteen just in time for the first morning trainload 
of Poilus, and in a jiffy I was in my blue apron and out 
in the Gout at my old job of filling hundreds of tin 
cups with coffee and chocolate. I can't remember when 
I 've done anything that I enjoyed more and I know I 
shall never forget it. 

September 29th, 1918. 
We had the nicest young American Lieutenant with us 
today for luncheon. He was a veterinary surgeon and 

165 



had come out with his men to call for some sick horses. 
It was so interesting to hear all about his work, and it 
gave one quite a lump in one's throat to think of the 
suffering of the horses on the battlefield. The " vets " 
go out on the field, many times under fire, to bring back 
the wounded animals to the rear, or to shoot them if 
they are unable to walk. Then so many of the horses 
are gassed, in spite of the fact that each one has his 
gas mask. Of course loads of the dead animals are 
bought by the French for meat, and the Lieutenant 
said that the German prisoners are fed on horse-flesh 
that has seen many suns rise and set on " No Man's 
Land." &&■ s* 

Well, it is so cold that I think I shall retire under my 
blankets with a hot water bottle and have a nap before 
dinner. Next week I am to be " cassaire " which means 
rising at 8.30 on a morning instead of 6. 

Love to all, 

Doris. 

American Red Cross Canteen, 
France, 
October 2nd, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

'REAT excitement in the canteen kitchen of 
an afternoon now — we are experimenting 
with doughnuts. Yesterday afternoon, dur- 
ing a lull in the day's regular occupation, 
we made a huge recipe of them and were " desolee " 
166 



Dear Fami 

& 



to find them come out of the pan just a little heavier 
than lead. I swear that they were too " short " on 
account of using thick condensed — (OH ! GLORIOUS !) 
Mrs. Church has just run in with the morning paper. 
This is what first greeted my eyes, " Kaiser's Cry of 
Despair, ' Gather Round me.' " Is n't it too wonderful! 
Our Poilus will be so boisterous today that I know we 
shall never be able to make them " faire la tour " (keep 
in line.) — But more of this later — on account of using 
condensed milk. I made two funny little doughnut men, 
with clove eyes and noses, and gave them to a sort of 
woe-begone looking Poilu ; well, the men thought they 
were the most amusing things in the world, and the 
man I gave them to grinned over them for an hour £•» 
The veterinary surgeon Lieutenant with his men and 
forty-two sick horses pulled out from Orry-la-Ville 
yesterday morning, Before they left, he invited us into 
his freight car apartment for a piece of candy. You 
fortunates in America may not quite get the real thrill 
that this invitation held for us who have hardly tasted 
candy in six months. Well, he was very cozily ensconced 
with a bed of straw in one corner of the car, and in the 
other his supplies and doctor's kit. Two revolvers 
reminded me of one of his duties, that of putting his 
suffering patients out of their misery. He had several 
horses that have been gassed, and as the almost 
inevitable result is for pneumonia to follow, they were 
being very carefully cared for. This lieutenant does 
almost nothing outside of administering anaesthetics at 

167 



the huge evacuation hospital where he is located. It 
seemed so strange to hear him talk about his work 
just as though it were with human beings. 
Well, my duties call, and the train will not wait for me, 
so I must skip. 

Love, 
Doris. 

October 3d, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

^t-w-jjj^HAT a day, yesterday! In the first place, 
^T II ^ft when I arrived at the camp, there was Al 
« I W leaning way out of the window at the can- 
X^L^^ teen, gaily flourishing before my eyes a 
large bunch of American mail ; letters from Father, 
Bessie, Ruth, Spen, Helen Foster, and a juicy fat 
envelope which turned out to contain a box of Ruth and 
Terry's wedding cake. How thrilled every one was over 
my good luck, though we were all a bit depressed not 
to find any photos of the happy couple. The letters were 
most satisfactory. 

Then we had a tremendous day at the canteen! about 
five hundred more lunches to serve than usual. Food 
threatened to give out, but we fortunately discovered 
eggs and vegetables, etc., in out-of-the-way corners, 
and ended by being able to send every Poilu away 
well-satisfied both as to inner and outer man. I was in 
the little ticket coop from 11 A. M. till about 4 in the 
afternoon, selling tickets steadily every minute. 
168 



Jove! but every one is on the crest of a wave these 
days, French, English, Belgians and Americans steadily 
marching onward, and the Huns always falling back. 
To think that Belgian towns are beginning to be 
retaken, and Metz constantly racked by fire from our 
guns! Yesterday as we were waiting for our train, a 
long line of freight cars went ponderously by, loaded 
with German cannon — and after that, more cars with 
grey-green German prisoners. They all look pretty 
glad to be in a quiet sector again, and I dare say have 
already gained a few pounds owing to the change of 
food $& a^ 

How I do enjoy my Poilus' letters! I have about five 
of the nicest French boys who write me very con- 
stantly. I send them American magazines and cigarettes 
every once in a while and that seems to please them 
tremendously. Can you imagine how welcome anything 
would be to you if you were spending days at a time out 
in an utterly barren country, no trees, no houses, 
sleeping in holes in the ground covered with branches? 
That is what one of my boys writes of his life these past 
few weeks. 

I had a long talk this afternoon with a Poilu who just 
came down from the Front this morning. He is an old 
friend of mine — was one of the camp guards here. But 
my what a changed fellow today ! weary-eyed, colorless 
face and mud-caked clothes. He says the French are 
advancing so fast that they can carry only ammunition 
and iron rations. They sleep out in the open fields with 

169 



no blankets — and oh! how cold and rainy these October 
nights are. Poor boy, he is only twenty-two, and looked 
so happy and young this Summer, but now he has the 
air of a man twice that age — still, " The Boche are 
retreating. They are running so fast we can hardly 
keep up to them." I can tell you I babied that boy; he 
is a French Canadian from Hamilton, Ontario. I only 
hope he won't be ill from all the hot chocolate he drank. 
If only a few days at the Front have made this change 
in him, think of the men who have been up there for 
weeks without rest. 
The train is due, I must close. 

Love, 

Doris. 

October 6th, 1918. 
Germany is suing for peace! The headlines in the 
morning paper almost created a panic here in the 
"White House." We all began at once planning what 
steamer we would take for home, who would be at the 
pier to meet us as we sailed into the New York Harbor, 
and just what stockings we would hang up in our own 
dear fire-places on Christmas eve. But after the first 
excitement, we rather quieted down. Peace or no, the 
big thing is that William the Kaiser has admitted that 
he is beaten. " C'est le commencement de la fin," 
(it is the beginning of the end). Now come Winter, 
Christmas in a foreign land, and chilblained feet, 
what care I? The Poilus were quite calm over the 
170 



news, I suppose they hardly dare let themselves think 
of peace for fear of being too terribly disappointed. And 
the French officers I talked with this morning threw up 
their hands and said, "Jamais! not till Germany is 
made to suffer something that France has, will we listen 
to peace talk." 

Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
Orry-la-Ville, Oise, 
October 9th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

OUR letters are most welcome. My! what a 
thrilling thing it is to get news from home. 
C Tomorrow will be the 10th of October, 
and a milestone that marks my first six 
months in France. The time has flown, actually we 
don't know how the days' can slip by so rapidly. We 
have been out here with the French for over four 
months now, and though I hate the thought of leaving 
them, I am quite hankering to get with our own Yanks. 
We are waiting for girls to come out to relieve us, and 
then expect to take ten days' permission before starting 
in at our new job. I wonder if the Americans will ever 
appeal to me as these dear, dear Poilus have. Yesterday 
a grizzled grey soldier came up to the lunch counter, 
leading a young kid by the arm, and asked me if I 
would give the boy some bouillon. The youngster was 
as white as a sheet and so weak he almost tottered over. 
It seems that he had not eaten for three days, and when 

171 




he tried to eat a dinner at the canteen, it made him so 
sick that he at once lost it all. He was only twenty years 
old, from the invaded part of France, and had been 
fighting since his eighteenth birthday. This is only one 
of the heartrending stories we hear every day. 

October 12th, 1918. 
Oh, glorious! It is too wonderful to believe, but every 
one is calling out that peace is declared. The evening 
papers have all been sold, and there were crowds 
around the news stand in the little railroad station, 
reading the one and only that remained. Imagine how 
I first heard the news! I have the beginning of chil- 
blains on my right hand and foot, so was directed to 
the Baroness de Rothschild's "Ambrine " Hospital, 
near Creil, for treatment. We went over this evening 
in the camion. The Baroness and Elsie de Wolfe have 
taken a beautiful chateau, have built additional hos- 
pital barracks, and Miss de Wolfe has done a perfectly 
stunning piece of interior decorating throughout. Well, 
we arrived at the hospital and no sooner had entered 
the grounds than the Baroness met us with this 
marvelous news. She says all Paris is shouting over it 
and declares that it is so. You can imagine our state. 
We all almost flew apart with excitement, and when 
we got into the big hospital dining-room where some of 
the patients were having their dinner, and told them 
the news, I thought they would raise the roof. They 
shouted and sang, " C'est la paix! " (it is peace). In a 
172 



long, narrow ward I found one lone patient. He was 
badly burned and feeling very low, but when I told him 
the news he smiled and said, pointing to his bandaged 
head, " Then this is nothing if peace is here." You 
know this "Ambrine " Hospital is devoted entirely to the 
treatment of burns caused either by gas or explosion. 
We saw one boy who had just been brought in this 
noon ; he was entirely covered with bandages with the 
exception of his lips and nose and a bit of his chin 
which were absolutely burned as black as a cinder. 
This marvelous treatment with ambrine, or paraffin, is 
absolutely painless and relieves the most terrible suf- 
fering in a few minutes after being administered. The 
Baroness told us that this poor fellow who looks in 
such a hopeless condition now, will be all white and 
comfortable by tomorrow. 

Oh, what a day this has been! I received Spen's cable 
and can not wait for him to come over ; but I wonder if 
he will, if peace is really declared. 

We brought some tankers back from Senlis to Chantilly 
with us tonight, and we are all so happy and excited 
that it was killing. They were singing French songs at 
the top of their voices, and we American ones. It was 
pitch dark with a cold rain pouring down, but I don't 
know when my heart has ever been more burning. 
d Now the question is — can I sleep until morning 
comes and brings us the latest news ? 
PEACE!!! 



173 



American Red Cross, 
October 15th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

IF my letters seem to be falling off a bit, you 
must know that it is because Winter has 
arrived in France ; short days and cold hands 
are not too conducive to letter writing a+ so 
I remember in my last letter I joyfully ended with 
" Peace." But don't think that the present state of 
affairs is at all the anti-climax. Every one is in the 
seventh heaven the way things are going now, and 
eager to go on with the war till the Hohenzollerns are 
made to bite the dust. You know it is so exciting every 
morning, coming down to the canteen in the train, and 
every one poring over the latest news in the journals. 
I often think that the war is just like a great game that 
we are winning — and I have the same exultant feeling 
now as I have when I am beating at parchesi, only 
about one million times stronger. 

The other evening Al and I went to the hotel for dinner 
with two American boys of the Harvard ambulance 
unit. They were real peaches and held us spellbound 
with tales of their work at the Front ; of men with shell 
shock who do queer, uncanny things ; of lifting men into 
the ambulances and having them die before they can 
get them into the machines ; of making necessary 
repairs on their cars with shells bursting all about — 
and so on. We were decidedly thrilled. They came back 
to the "White House " with us and sat in front of the 
174 



wood fire and almost purred over it. We were the first 
American girls they had talked to in months, and the 
combination of us and the fire certainly unlocked the 
flood gates of their souls. They confided all sorts of 
things and were very sweet and appealing. 
Still waiting for our replacers. I begin to think that 
Brittany and a bit of " repos " are dreams that will 
never come true. I saw Anna Shepard in Paris yester- 
day at the Y. M. C. A. She told me lots about all you 
dear family. I went there to see George Rand and was 
awfully disappointed to find that he had left for America. 
<[ I saw in the Herald that a Mr. Kellogg had just 
arrived in France on one of the incoming steamers and 
was full of hope till I went to the Red Cross and found 
on inquiry that it was not Spencer Kellogg. 
Mother, I loved your last letter more than I can tell 
you. You were born to be an author, I think. You don't 
know what a wonderful gift you have of telling one 
absolutely every bit of news that heart could wish. I 
also received a peach of a letter from Sue — I 'm going 
to drop " her man " a note soon. 

I got a letter from Junior enclosing a long, green $5.00 
bill. How odd it looked after one has seen only these 
dainty French blue notes for so many months. He 
asked me to buy him chocolate and cigarettes and I 
will do my best to get him both. 

The other day we had the most interesting bunch of 
Belgian soldiers at the canteen. They were all so 
intelligent and well-bred. One boy told me all about 

175 



his escape from Brussels the third month of the war. 
Fortunately, his mother and little sister had gone to 
England in July for a visit, so were not in Belgium when 
the war broke out. This boy and his younger brother 
and father were made prisoners of war in Brussels but 
escaped to Holland. They walked for six successive 
nights, hiding during the day, and when finally within 
thirty kilometers of the Dutch frontier, they got down 
on their hands and knees and crawled all the rest of 
the way. The boy suffered so from the dampness those 
nights that he has had inflammatory rheumatism ever 
since and has only just been accepted for military 
service. I asked him about Belgian atrocities, because 
I wanted to hear them first hand. He told me about 
seeing Belgian soldiers run through the streets of 
Brussels with the Huns behind them prodding bayonets 
into them ; of seeing scores of Belgian school children with 
one finger of their right hand cut off "so that they could 
never make soldiers for Belgium," as the Germans said. 
The poor boy got so wrought up over the telling of these 
tilings that the perspiration stood out on his forehead 
and he fairly gasped. Now his one idea is to get back 
to the corner of reconquered Belgium and to fight and 
die for his country. We had a glorious time petting those 
fine red-tasseled Belgians ; treated each one to coffee, 
little cakes, packages of picture post-cards, and a cake 
of sweet chocolate. I tell you that they did n't waste 
much time in tearing off the wrapping from that candy 
and a great sound of munching filled the air for some 
176 



time. This boy's name is Jack Jeffreys, his father is an 
Englishman and his grandfather is Bishop Jeffreys of 
Boston, Mass. I have his address and will send him 
chocolate and tobacco. 

Please tell Mrs. Larkin that I received her letter and 
will attend to her commissions as soon as possible ; 
also give her the enclosed notes I received from 
William Pratt and Davenport Kendall. 
What a fine letter I received from Charlie Clark the 
other day! We all roared over it and the description of 
Gert's punishing Andrew. All write again soon, please. 

Love, 

Doris. 
P.S. Just received Pop's letter dated September 8th. 
It was very much delayed for some reason. It contained 
the photo of me cut from the Express. 

October 19th, 1918. 
Dear Family : 

CHE Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, 
a rum-tum-tumming everywhere! " They 
have been rushing past the canteen, train 
load after train load of them, for the last 
three days and nights. It 's awfully thrilling — you '11 
hear the cry go up "Americans ! " and then we all run 
to the windows and wildly wave " Old Glory " and yell 
" Hello boys! " There is certainly something doing up 
Flanders way and the Yanks are in on it. 
We are still here at Orry, no signs of our releases or 

177 



prospects of getting to Toul and the Yanks. However, 
we have had one good opportunity of working for our 
American boys, and I must say that if this was a 
representative case, I 'm afraid that my constitution 
will not be able to stand the strain. It was the two 
Harvard boys again. They called for Al and me at the 
canteen in their ambulance, came to " The White 
House " for dinner and then settled down for the 
evening. After dinner we talked, then made fudge, then 
talked some more. I began to feel sick and was afraid 
I was going to fall over sideways out of my chair. About 
eleven the boys lighted cigars, and I became almost 
hypnotized staring at their fiery tips. Let me take this 
opportunity of remarking that I think the life of a cigar 
is like unto that of the characters of Old Testament 
fame — they are really practically immortal. Well, I kept 
alluding to the long hours that we girls put in some days 
— did not attempt to disguise my yawns. But now let 
me tell you something appalling. Finally those cigars 
expired and I was beginning to see relief ahead, when 
what do you think? I saw a hand thrust leisurely into 
a breast pocket and slowly reappear clasping two more 
large and brown objects. Well, to cut a painful story 
short, at one o'clock A. M. ye two Yanks began to 
make remarks about our being tired and found us very 
responsive on that subject. So they finally tore them- 
selves away from the cozy home atmosphere. Poor kids ! 
They really had enjoyed that evening, and we had n't 
the heart not to let them stay as long as they wanted to. 
178 



But this experience made us realize that there are 
really many advantages in being with the French Poilus, 
especially if one does n't speak their langauge very 
fluently. 

Hotel Continental, 
Rue Castiglione, 
Paris, 
October 20th, 1918. 
Can I believe it, that our permission has begun and 
that we are safely ensconced here at the Hotel Conti- 
nental, Paris? We left Chantilly this morning, and 
though we had been so keen to leave, we almost wept 
when the time finally came. As we passed Orry and 
Serveillers we fairly fell out of the train window waving 
good-bye to the servants at the canteen, and I felt that 
I was closing the first volume of the most absorbing 
and appealing drama I have ever known. I 've been 
homesick for the Poilus all day, and every one I see 
here in Paris touches a tender spot in my heart. They 
have been too wonderful — so patient and appreciative, 
so gay and gallant. I really think that if I were asked to 
choose between the French and American men, I 'd 
just have to stay on the fence. 

We arrived in Paris just in time for a wonderful cele- 
bration and parade. Today is the fete of the 1920 boys, 
and there have been many exciting doings. We saw the 
parade from a great vantage point, though it poured 
rain, and we were quite soaked. When we heard the 

179 



stirring strains of Sousa's march coming toward us, and 
then saw a real regimental brass band and a company 
of khaki Yanks with a huge Stars and Stripes flying in 
the breeze, we were sort of " goose fleshy " you know. 
All the French crowd cheered tremendously when our 
boys went by, more so than for any of the others. 
There were Poles, Italians, English, Russians, Slavs, 
Portuguese, etc., and then the 1920's. Poor young kids ! 
marching so straight and proudly and eagerly. 
Well, as I say, I can't believe that we are really " en 
permission " and that we have no early train to think 
about in the morning and that we have running water 
and that it is actually warm. I am writing to you 
luxuriously propped up in bed, with my feet on a hot 
water bottle, but my fingers are more or less chilly. 
I '11 admit it was rather a blow when we rang for the 
garcon and asked him to bring our dinner up to us in 
our room and were told that no meals were served out- 
side of the dining-room on account of lack of servants. 
{[ Two Sundays ago Germany asked for an armistice ; 
last Sunday Wilson handed his reply to the Kaiser, 
Laon fell and we served dinners to over sixteen hundred 
Poilus ; today the whole Belgian coast has been freed, 
and we are in Paris, with Brittany the star that is leading 
and beckoning us on — joyful anticipation! 
Good night till next time, 

Doris. 



180 



Hotel Continental, 

3 Rue Castiglione, 

Paris, 

October 23rd, 1918. 

Dear Mother : 

^* * ^^UST a note to tell you that we are leaving for 
f± ■ Brittany tonight — five nice girls are going 
Wk M^ together — Al, Muggsy, Larrabee, Marguer- 
^L^,^^ ite Mitchell and self. We 're going up to 
Morlaix and then on to St. Jean du Doigt. Hope we 
won't freeze to death, but we are so thrilled about 
having a vacation that our enthusiasm ought to keep 
us pretty warm. 

My Redfern cape came in and is a peach — grey lined 
with horizon blue whipcord and big 'possum collar. 

Love, Doris. 

Hotel St. Jean et des Bains, 

St. Jean de Doigt, 

Bretagne, France, 

October 26th, 1918. 

Dear Family : 

ROWN rolling hills ; tiny, whitewashed, 
thatched-roofed cottages; sober, white- 
capped, wooden-shoed peasants ; and a 
distant glimpse of the wild, salt sea. We 
could not possibly have chosen any place more restful 
to our a bit war-worn spirits than this tiny, sleepy town 
on the coast of Brittany. 

181 



Dear Fami 

© 



We took the night train out from Paris and arrived at 
Morlaix yesterday morning. Having counted on the 
tramway to bring us over here to St. Jean, we were 
rather disturbed to find that "II ne marche pas a ce 
moment " (not going now). But being Americans and 
not to be balked, we scoured the town till we found a 
nice rickety old omnibus, with a team of horses, and a 
wooden-shoed driver who contracted to drive us over 
the eighteen kilometers to our destination. That was 
the most wonderful ride! I couldn't bear it for long 
inside the carriage so I hopped upon the driver's seat 
beside our nice old cocher, and we had such a cozy 
time together. He told me about all of his brothers and 
cousins and sons who are in the war or have already 
been killed or disabled; and about the prices of food 
and wood and horses before the war and now; and 
pointed out Marechal Foch's country home ; and, well, 
we just talked steadily for about three hours and got 
so well-acquainted. 

No wonder the artists find Brittany the most interesting 
part of France and that this particular bit of country 
was recommended to me by the Vice-President of the 
Artists' Guild of Brittany. The farms and the peasants 
are so picturesque and the air so sweet and balmy and 
soft as heart could wish. 

I must say that we had a few moments of tremendous 
suspense when we drew up to this hotel and found it 
" closed for the winter," but I made my way to the 
kitchen, and pleaded first with our landlord and then 
182 



our landlady, and it was n't long before they shrugged 
their shoulders and said, " What could they do? They 
could n't leave us out in the road." So they opened up 
their clean little hotel and have made us perfectly at 
home and comfortable — " Because you are Americans, 
Mes demoiselles." s& s«» 

Now we are eating and sleeping and talking and read- 
ing and getting all husky and well-prepared for our 
winter's work. Just what that will be is still undecided, 
whether it will be canteening for our troops at Toul or 
in an aviation camp at Colomby-le-bel.Mrs. Vanderbilt 
was so nice to us, told us to go off on our vacation, to 
have a nice time, and when we were ready to come 
back to Paris she would go over our plans with us. 
C I am adoring my repos, but after this first long rest- 
ful night and day, am feeling so re-made and keen 
that I begin to ache for the bustle and hustle of the 
soldier's life. Love, love, love, 

Doris. 

St. Jean du Doigt, 
Bretagne, France, 
October 30th, 1918. 
Dearest Donschie : 

'O work harder than you ever have before in 

all your life for five solid months, without 

even Saturday afternoon or Sunday off — to 

see nothing for five solid months but just 

soldiers, soldiers, soldiers, well ones and crippled ones 

183 




and wounded ones — to think for five solid months of 
almost nothing but war and suffering and feel that those 
two things proved fair to last forever, with no peace in 
sight — and then suddenly, all at once — armistice, 
abdication, Peace! — and " a ten days' permission for 
Miss Doris Kellogg, Cantine des Deux Drapeaux, 
Orry-la-Ville, Oise, France." 

Well, here I am Don, and how you would appreciate 
and love this picturesque, tiny, sea-coast town in Brit- 
tany. There are soft billowy hills, cozy stone cottages 
with arched doorways and shining brass showing from 
within ; friendly, square-faced peasants with white coifs 
and sabots stuffed with straw. Yesterday Al and I and 
little Marcelle, a child that has " picked us up," took a 
long walk over the hills and down to the sea. And what 
do you think I saw there, for the first time in my life? 
A huge dirigible balloon, sailing quite majestically up 
there in the blue sky and making circles over a convoy 
of steamers that were moving down the coast. It was a 
thrilling sight, for the sun was shining on it and had 
turned it to a lovely rosy pink, just the color of the huge 
rocks out in the sea. And then when one thought that 
just out there was one of the most dangerous bits of 
the Atlantic Ocean as far as submarines and floating 
mines go, and that this quiet coast of Brittany had been 
suspected of harboring German submarine bases — 
well, it made that dirigible and that fleet of ships some- 
thing more than just picturesque. 

We can hardly bear to think of leaving here, but I 
184 



suppose we really must. I certainly have learned to 
appreciate the value of contrasts. 

Write me soon, Don. I love your letters. Ever love to 
you and all, Dodie. 

St. Jean du Doigt, 
Bretagne, France, 
November 2nd, 1918. 
Dear Mother and Father : 

DUR vacation is over, and much as I have 
simply revelled in it, I really can't say I 
regret returning to " Parie." But what a 
vacation this has been — simply perfect ! 
Madame and Monsieur Vouaux, our landlady and land- 
lord, have been more like hosts than anything else, 
arid we have been their petted guests. Fresh butter 
and eggs and broiled chicken, three things almost 
unheard of in France now, have been our daily fare ; 
and when plump little Monsieur goes ahunting, we are 
the ones who enjoy his catch of rabbit or partridge — 
and all because we are Americans. Not one single 
peasant that we have talked to, but what their eyes fill 
with tears when they speak of America and what she 
has done for France — " It is you who have verily 
saved la France ; without you we had been lost." 
This little town is full of refugee children who have 
been taken into the different peasant homes until the 
time that the Boche are driven from their farms and 
villages. Such a darling little boy is here in our inn, 

185 



a refugee from Londres, in Northern France. He has 
been three years with the Germans, and tells horrible 
tales of his playmates whose hands have been cut off 
and their tongues cut out. 

Yesterday was All Saints' Day, and such a flocking 
down to the village church of peasants from the sur- 
rounding farms, all dressed in their Sunday best. 
After the mass, every one went out to the graveyard 
and put wreaths and crosses of flowers on the graves ; 
then knelt down beside them and said a prayer for the 
dead. Many of the wreaths and crosses were tied with 
broad ribbons of red, white and blue, and stamped on 
the ribbon in gold letters, " Mort Pour la Patrie," 
(died for the country). Imagine the picture : a wild, 
windy day with dead leaves blowing about, from the 
high cathedral steeple bells tolling, and in the church- 
yard all these black-clothed figures kneeling, then the 
bright splashes of colored flowers, orange, pink, purple 
and red — the women's white net coifs like birds perch- 
ing on their heads. 

Well, it has been an ideal experience with the only 
drawback that I have had a constant ache of loneliness 
for my own home and you. This afternoon we go back 
to Paris and there receive our new orders. What will 
they be — aviation camp or canteen? I rather like the 
feeling that it is n't up to me to decide which — we are 
told to go and we go. I am wild to get to Paris and see 
if there is any mail for me from home. After all, per- 
haps that is the main card that is drawing me so 
186 



unreluctantly from St. Jean. <[ Good-bye, Mother and 
Father, and good-bye butter, eggs and broiled chicken. 
" C'est la guerre — que voulez-vous? " 

Love, love, love, 

Doris. 
P.S. Please let me know if you receive the postals I 
sent from here. There is talk that no picture cards 
leave France unless enclosed in envelopes, and mine 
were not. 

Hotel Madison, 

48 Rue des Petits Champs, 

Paris, November 8th, 1918. 

Afternoon. 

Dear Family : 

'O "la guerre est vraiment fini ! " Can it be 
true? Yes, it is because we got it first hand 
just this minute at the American Red Cross 
Headquarters ; " armistice signed at the 
Ministry of War this morning at eleven o'clock — all 
hostilities ceased this afternoon at two." Now Junior 
won't be killed! Jack, Bill Kite, Dunbar, etc., nor will 
Tom, Dick or Harry. No more long, slowly moving 
trains of wounded will be coming from the Front and 
no more ambulances go jolting along the roads. I just 
met an American boy, and I asked him if he had heard 
the news. " Yes, I have, all right, all right. I just met 
a French fellow and he grabbed me and kissed me on 
both cheeks. Good night ! ! ! " 

187 




Well, now I shall barely exist until I see the news in 
huge headlines in the newspapers : then, I think I may 
be able to believe it is so. It really is almost too much 
to take in. I can not realize it. 

Next morning. 
Al and I were up this morning at break of dawn and 
pounced on the first papers that came out. Still no 
definite news, contradictions as to the signing of the 
armistice. Well, I at least really believe that the thing 
was done yesterday morning as we heard. When we 
went to get the order for our railroad tickets to Toul, 
the Red Cross officer said to us, " You had better 
hurry and get there or you won't be able to go," which 
of course was not really so, but just made me realize 
the utter change in things. 

With the American Army, 
Somewhere in France, 
November 10th, 1918. 
Dear Family: 

T last we are with them, " our boys," and in 
one of the most active and exciting American 
Headquarters in France. Jove, but it is great 
to be here! We left Paris yesterday on an 
early morning train and after about an hour out, we 
struck Chateau Thierry. From there we followed the 
Marne battlefield as far as Dormans. It was a most 
thrilling sight, those towns battered to ruins, trees 
188 




struck down, fields and hillsides peppered with all sizes 
of shell holes ; we saw many dugouts, and scattered all 
about, small bare graves marked with a simple wooden 
cross and the steel helmet of the soldier buried there — 
I saw one with a Boche helmet on the cross. Well, it 
was a most interesting ride, and when our train began 
to move more slowly, we realized that we were going 
to be awfully late. When it got dark and we were 
allowed no lights whatever, but passed along in utter 
darkness, why then it was n't very difficult to realize 
that we were quite in the war zone. You know I was 
pleased to death when during a stop I heard a voice 
outside our compartment window mutter, " They ain't 
a-goin' to pull out yit." That was real "American talk," 
as the Poilus say, and I realized that we, too, have our 
patois &o- «•» 

As soon as we arrived here at Toul, it seemed that an 
avalanche of American boys poured down upon us, 
offering to carry our bags and see us to the Red Cross 
canteen. I never realized before that our Yanks were 
so big and broad and kindly, and we seemed to look 
pretty kindly to them too. After meeting our new 
Directrice, we were ushered down the street to a room 
in a large, high, damp and — well no matter — apartment 
house, our future home. 

Next day. 
" My gully! " as Father says, when can I begin to tell 
you of all the wonderful things I 've seen and done in 
these first short fourteen hours in the American War 

189 



Zone? €[ It is easy to choose my first story, as it is the 
very most hair-raising thing I 've seen since I 've been 
in France. We were eating our luncheon this noon 
when we suddenly heard booming of cannon. As we 
had been told that our men were storming M — today, 
we at once said, "Ah! those are the guns shelling A — ." 
A few minutes later some one casually said, " I wonder 
if it could be the anti-aircraft guns? " With that we all 
went to the window, and there up in the sky right in 
front of us, and not one bit far off, we saw the white 
puffs of shells bursting all about a Hun plane. We 
watched the fight with bated breath, until suddenly I 
think I ceased breathing when I saw the machine begin 
to turn and twist and pitch wildly down toward the 
earth. " We 've got it! " we all yelled, and a great 
clapping of hands went up from the boys standing 
below us in the street. I can never tell you the sensa- 
tion I had, as I watched with open mouth and popping 
eyes the huge grey bird come swirling down, just like 
a great metal sinker on a fishing line, that is nickel- 
plated on one side and grey on the other. And then in 
the midst of the falling, a small, peaceful light object 
separated itself from the plane and came sailing quietly 
toward earth. It was the parachute bringing its Boche 
prisoner into our lines. Well, it was all like a wild 
dream, and to think that my only thought was of joy 
and satisfaction that our boys had got their bird. 
Well, to go back a bit. I was awakened this morning at 
about six by the heavy shuffling of feet passing below 
190 



our window. I jumped up and, looking down, had my 
first sight of our American boys on the march. " They're 
our boys, Al," I whispered, " and they are coons! " It 
was great to see them. 

This morning reported at the Provost Marshal, took a 
look at the Red Cross canteen, the Officers' and En- 
listed Men's Hotel, and the Rest House, and were 
given our orders to go on duty in the canteen this even- 
ing at seven. 

This afternoon we were strolling toward the Rest 
House when we noticed ahead of us, and stretching 
far along the road on either side, crowds of khaki 
soldier boys. Our girls were giving them cigarettes and 
sweet chocolate, and so we pitched right in and helped. 
Poor kids, they looked about all in. They said this was 
the first candy they had had since they left the States. 
They called me " Smiles " and said, " Gee, the Red 
Cross is all right." I talked to their Lieut, who was so 
nice, and really he seemed touched with what we were 
doing. He said his men had been marching a long way, 
that they had n't had a hot meal for three days, and 
were so tired out that he had to give them a rest before 
they walked up the short hill ahead that led to the 
barracks where they were to be billeted for the night. 
Oh, it 's glorious to be helping one's own men! The 
Lieut, said to me, " We are all for the Red Cross," and 
I could n't think of anything else to say but, " We are 
working together, are n't we? " 

I am frozen now and am going upstairs to our dining - 

191 



room which has a bit of the chill taken out of the air. 

Love, love, love, 

Dodie. 
P.S. Spen and I had a great week together in Paris. 
He looks so husky and awfully swanky in his uniform. 

With the American Army. 
France. 
Dear Family : 

DOW it has come, Peace. I think I never 
should have been able to realize the glorious 
truth of it if I had been in any other place in 
the world but just here with these mobs of 
wild Yanks. Yesterday was the most thrilling one of all 
my life, and here 's a full account of it. 
At about 10.45 in the morning I leisurely made my way 
down into the town to look up some place for us to 
sleep this Winter, some place where we could be just 
warm enough so that I might be able to hold a pen to 
write a letter. Well, I dropped in at the Y. W. C. A. 
Hostess House, and the person in charge calmly said, 
"And what will all you girls do now that peace is 
declared? " " Well, we can't count on that yet," said I. 
" Why, my dear child, don't you know that the armis- 
tice has been signed and that the armies cease fighting 
at eleven o'clock this morning? All the bells in Toul will 
ring out the hour." Well, I took a look at my watch and 
then tore — it was just five minutes to eleven. I made 
about sixty miles an hour to the apartment, and as I 
192 



flew up the stairs the chimes began their pealing. I 
burst into our room and gasped, "Al, do you know what 
those bells mean? They mean Peace! " With that Al 
and Muggsy Davis burst into tears, the joy was too 
great, and I went out on our balcony and looked up at 
the sky and just felt the great sensation of peace come 
rolling in. Up over my head six huge American aero- 
planes were circling about to the tune of the chimes, 
and it was quite overwhelming. I thought of the sight 
I had seen from this same balcony only the day before, 
a Hun plane hurling down to earth, and then of the 
boom of cannon that had kept up steadily all during 
last night — our Yanks firing on Metz. " Eleventh hour, 
eleventh day, eleventh month, 1918 — and all hostilities 
ceased." s+ s*» 

Well, then I could n't stay out of the streets any 
longer, and so I joined the crowd that was swelling 
every minute, and we swayed down to the town square. 
And still people really could n't believe it. But there 
were the official signs already posted up on the street 
corners; " Germany having accepted all the conditions 
of the Entente, we will cease fighting at eleven o'clock 
today." There was such a broad grin on everybody's 
face and such a tremendous one on mine that I really 
was in pain. I circulated about with the crowd for a 
while but soon had to come back to the apartment to 
get ready for work. From four o'clock to seven, I, with 
two others, poured hot chocolate, served cakes and 
sandwiches, and gave out cigarettes to a never-ending 

193 



line of khaki boys. "All free today, boys, the Red Cross 
is giving a party. We are celebrating the Kaiser's 
funeral." Oh it was great! I had all sorts of presents 
handed me over the counter, a gas mask, a piece of 
ribbon a kid had taken off a German's iron cross, an 
aviator's pin, etc. The boys all wanted to talk about 
home, and the one question of the day was, " When are 
we going home, Nurse? " I heard so many stories that 
were more thrilling and romantic than any I have ever 
read in books. 

At seven the new shift arrived and it was time for my 
dinner, but Muggsy rushed in — " The French are 
singing over at the station, it 's great, come on over." 
Of course I went. There, in a huge, dimly lighted 
smoking room, was a mob of Poilus and Yanks all 
singing at the top of their lungs to the accompaniment 
of one shrill mouth organ. We wormed our way into 
the crowd, the only two women in the place, and I said 
to one American boy, "Ask them to sing ' Madalon.' " 
A Poilu heard me and before I knew it, he had whisp- 
pered something to the kid with a mouth organ, and 
I gasped to see the whole shouting crowd come swarm- 
ing up to us. They formed a circle about us, and with 
Mugs and me as audience, they sang themselves 
hoarse. But I was n't just audience, I chimed in too, 
and we sang " Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old 
Kit Bag," and " There 's a Long, Long Trail A-Wind- 
ing," and "Turn the Dark Cloud Inside Out," etc. 
Well, finally the bugle for the train sounded and our 
194 



party broke up. <[ Mugs and I started toward home 
when we caught the notes of a band coming toward us. 
It was our 53rd regimental brass band and they were 
crashing out, " Over There." Jove, it was too thrilling ! 
So Mugs and I got in the crowd of soldiers that were 
marching along and we all marched up to the square 
in front of the station and had a band concert. There 
was a long, high, concrete construction overlooking the 
crowd and a bunch of soldiers standing up on it. I said 
to Mugs, " I won't be happy until I get up there." So, 
many hands were reached down for us and we were 
hoisted up in a jiffy. One boy standing right on the tip 
end of the construction and under a bright street light 
had been giving a most startling pantomime with a 
French and an American flag to the tune of the music, 
and when he caught sight of me in my Red Cross veil, 
he beckoned wildly for me to come over. I hated to, 
said I wouldn't "do anything conspicuous," but he 
insisted and the boys handed me over till I was in his 
place and he in back of me with the two flags. Well, I 
always thought one's wedding was the only time that 
one could be really conspicuous, but know now that I 
was mistaken. The boys down there yelled, " Hurrah 
for the Red Cross," and smiled up and waved their caps. 
You know it was quite overwhelming. Then the band 
and the crowd moved on and a bunch of doughboys in an 
official car took us down into the town to see the sights. 
Yanks were giving a concert in the square and every 
one was laughing and smiling, French and American 

195 



officers and men and a handful of women, The band 
played, " Home, Sweet Home " — they ragged it, and 
waltzed it and did everything to it to make it gay, but 
I heard a boy beside me murmur, " There they go, 
makin' a fellow homesick again." 

Well, everything has to come to an end, and as the 
town was tightly closed as far as drinks go, " Military 
Law," things had all quieted down by nine o'clock. So 
we decided to go home and have a bit of our long- 
delayed dinner. 

And now it is " the day after," the 12th of November, 
1918, and in thirty-five minutes I am due at the canteen 
to pour chocolate and serve sandwiches and talk to the 
boys — the last the best of all the game. 
I have never before appreciated the wonderful respect 
of our boys for their women. It is a thing to be proud of. 
They treat us as though we might break if handled 
roughly, and I think would kill a man for using language 
in front of us that was n't clean. I am terribly proud of 
them. 

Love, 

Doris. 



196 



Hotel Madison, 

48 Rue des Petits- Champs, 

Paris, 

November 21st, 1918. 

Dearest Mummy and Poppy : 

DOLD your breath and listen I 'm coming 
HOME! Yes, the die is cast. Today Spen 
engaged passage for Al and me on the SS. 
Lorraine, sailing from Bordeaux on Mon- 
day, the 2nd of December. We are walking on air, we 
are so happy, even though we had to take a second class 
cabin, all the first class being crammed full. But who 
should worry? We will be with you for Christmas. We 
have hopes of securing a first cabin the last minute, or 
if not that, we may be able to persuade the steward at 
least to let us eat in Spen's dining-room. 
We expect to land on December the 12th or 13th, or 
even the 14th. What untold joy if I should see your 
dear faces waiting for me on the pier, or if not allowed 
out there, in back of the fence that encloses the pier 
yards ! Now we sing gaily, " Over, we 're going over, 
and we won't come back 'cause it 's over, over here." 
C I might write loads more, but we will be able to talk 
together so soon, and I have a bit of the flu and am 
going to bed. Dr. Clinton is with us in Paris, and Spen, 
Al, he and I make a cozy four at meals. He is a peach. 
I thought that I just had a bad cold, but he says it is 
the flu, but that the germ has become so attenuated and 
weakened that it can not produce pneumonia any more. 

197 



C[ I have ordered one good looking bronze chiffon 
velvet afternoon dress at Jenny's and that is all I shall 
attempt. Mummy, if you come to New York will you 
bring my pearls down? I ache with loneliness to feel 
them around my neck. 

Well, dear parents, good night and a bientot. Vive 
l'Amerique ! 

Doris. 




198 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: jyii 2001 

PreservatranTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Pa* Drive 



LIBRARY 



CONGRESS 




